


Solstice Song

by TheDarkSideofEnergon



Series: Unrelated Prompts [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blaster and Orion just want their friends to be happy, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, M/M, Romance, Sort Of, bad communication (but it gets better), fluffy (just a little), ghost story, i guess it's more like a christmas carol, jazz is dead but not really, primus is just doing his best, primus likes to meddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkSideofEnergon/pseuds/TheDarkSideofEnergon
Summary: ::Well met, Child.::Jazz startled, twisting around to try and find the source of the voice that came from within him and all around him all at once, like a sound system cranked up just past its safety point. It was then that he noticed he was weightless, every old racing injury gone, floating in a formless expanse that his processor could only interpret as white. His optics told him there were no directions, his processor told him he was upside-down.Wait, he didn’t have optics. Or a processor. Scratch that, he didn’t have a frame. He tried to look around, and realized he was nothing more than his spark.Scrap.Jazz has deactivated with a regret-filled life, but Primus has plans for him: if he can convince another to like the Solstice in thirty days, he becomes a Winter Spark. Jazz, ever the optimist, fully believes he can.Prowl is a work-a-holic who finds himself indifferent to the Solstice... until Jazz drops into his life one day, pestering him and generally confusing him to no end...but why is the Solstice so important to Jazz?Neither of them counted on evenlikingthe other... and much less feeling anything more.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Series: Unrelated Prompts [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1493489
Comments: 61
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from a writing prompt. I meant to have this go up in the seven days before Christmas, but instead it's going to be the last seven days of the year. Ah well. Such is life.
> 
> Un-beta'd, as usual. I die like a woman.

::Well met, Child.::

Jazz startled, twisting around to try and find the source of the voice that came from within him and all around him all at once, like a sound system cranked up just past its safety point. It was then that he noticed he was weightless, every old racing injury gone, floating in a formless expanse that his processor could only interpret as white. His optics told him there were no directions, his processor told him he was upside-down. 

Wait, he didn’t have optics. Or a processor. Scratch that, he didn’t have a frame. He tried to look around, and realized he was nothing more than his spark.

Scrap.

“‘M deactivated, aren’ I?” Jazz may not have had a voicebox anymore, but he was going to pretend he did for as long as possible.

::You are.::

“What happened? Memory’s a little fuzzy ‘round th’ edges.” Well, he didn’t have a memory, but same deal.

::It does not matter, Child.::

“Does t’ m’. I’m th’ one sittin’ here completely frameless.”

::Do you really wish to know?::

“Yes!” Jazz shouted, a tiny, insignificant scream that seemed to peter out just in front of him.

A deep, primal sigh, one that reverberated through Jazz’s non-existent chassis to… well, his spark. Slag, this was hard to get used to.

::You were in a driving accident. Another mech, overcharged and reckless, pushed you from an overpass where you had stopped to admire the city. You fell to the metal below. The medics pronounced you deactivated on impact.::

Jazz cleared his no-longer-there voicebox. “Well. Not how I think I expected t’ go, but... “ Jazz shrugged mentally. “So… what happens now? Eternal bliss or somethin’ like tha’?”

::Usually.::

“Usually?” Jazz twisted his spark around so he was at least feeling like he was upright. “So not this time?”

::I have another task for you, Child. I regret that you cannot join with Me yet, but you are still required on My back for a short time.::

“I am?”

::You do not remember when you became One with Me?::

“Told ya, I don’t remember anythin’. Who are ya?”

The voice stopped for a moment.

“Uh… hello?”

::My Child, I am Primus. Your spark truly did not know Mine?::

“Can’t say that it did. Felt... warm, though?” Jazz ventured. If this was Primus -- and now that he mentioned it, it did feel familiar -- it wasn’t worth offending the god.

Another of those deep sighs came. ::I regret that I have not made My presence known. Perhaps that is the reason for your task.::

“Wha’ task? Ya keep sayin’ that.”

::You passed to Me only a month before the Winter Solstice. In your life, you loved this time. But there is a spark still living that does not. I wish you to return, and help them to find joy in this time.::

Jazz let himself roll backward, wishing he could lie back and cross his arms beneath his helm like he would when thinking. He hummed. “So ya want me t’ go back t’ life, temporarily? As a ghost? What?”

::You will have a frame once more, until the Solstice.::

“An’ after that?”

::You will return here.::

“So if I do this, wha’ do I get? ‘Cause I doubt yer gonna let m’ really live again.”

::You are correct. I cannot break My rules and return you to your old frame, and it is rare that I send a spark back to live another weary existence. However, if you can succeed in this task, you will become a Winter Spark.::

Jazz flung himself upright. “A Winter Spark?” He grinned. His memories were slowly filtering back in, and he knew the gentle, glowing figures that walked the streets of Cybertron in the week before and after the Solstice, singing and healing minor injuries, sometimes producing candies that nobody could ever replicate, or making the energon stretch just a little further that night. There had been fewer in recent years, but he recalled seeing many when still a sparkling in the orphanage. Nobody knew how they had been created, and they only smiled when asked, but now Jazz did.

::Yes. If you do not succeed, there is no shame. You will simply become One with all.::

“Nah, m’mech. ‘M gonna succeed. Jus’ watch.” Jazz grinned wider.

A deep chuckle. ::I see that you are returning to yourself, Child.::

“Mem’ry’s still fuzzy, but yeah, it’s comin’ back.”

::It will be until your spark has caught up with your deactivation. It is normal.::

“Good t’ know.” Jazz tilted himself forward. “So when d’ I start? Who am I goin’ t’ find?” Jazz had another thought. “How d’ I know if I’ve succeeded?”

Another chuckle. ::His name is Prowl.:: The voice paused. ::If you can get him to change his ways, truly change them, in thirty orns, you will have succeeded. But now, rest for a time. I must think of a temporary frame for you, Child.::

“Can I help?” Jazz hadn’t disliked his frame, exactly, but he had made some interesting modifications, and he’d love to have those back.

Jazz almost felt as though he were being patted on the helm. ::No. Consider it a Solstice surprise. You will enjoy it, I promise.::

Jazz sighed and rolled back, letting himself relax. “I better.” He smiled to himself as he allowed himself to drift off to a final chuckle from the warm light.

It really was a pleasant sensation in some ways, not having a frame.

_____

What was not pleasant was waking up to a blast of cold and the sounds of crowds passing by. Jazz shivered and clamped his plating down as he struggled to his pedes.

Pedes. Plating. Cold.

Jazz slapped his hands to his chassis. He was in a frame again. He grinned as he looked down. He couldn’t tell much, beyond that he had black and white coloring with just a little blue and red. Bringing a hand up to his face, he realized that he had a visor, much like his old frame, which he decided to leave down for the moment. Giving everything a good shake -- not that it did much good in the heavy snow falling -- he looked around. He was in an alleyway, mechs passing by outside on the street, not a single one bothering to look in.

Then he doubled over, grimacing, his helm feeling like it was splitting apart. He gripped it with both hands, willing the pain to stop, vents blasting out hot air, melting the snow that had accumulated on his plating.

Then it was gone, and he vented in the cold air, cooling his systems again.

Prowl. The word stood out among the new info package, which Jazz cautiously opened. Sure, it was probably some sort of divine intervention from Primus -- really, how else could he have just popped into a brand-new frame (which this was?) -- but Jazz hadn’t lived as long as he had before without being healthily suspicious of strange info. 

Sure enough, it was all the info on who he was looking for, who he himself was.

Still Jazz. Still a singer and dancer. Still a little bit reckless (but at least he didn’t have a record anymore -- ah, the joys of youth). Even had enough funds to live off of (with a little fun mixed in) and a one-month lease on an apartment in a decent part of the city. Jazz raised an optic ridge and grinned. Primus really did provide.

Prowl… Prowl, though. Jazz snorted as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway, scrolling through the file. Enforcer down in the fifty-first precinct of Iacon, recently transferred from Praxus. Stern-looking. Worked every holiday, never took time off, highest arrest and closed case rate in the department, and had a squeaky-clean record, if a few non-recommendations from colleagues. Jazz huffed. Looked like a real miser. Jazz didn’t know such a mech could actually exist, but here was the proof straight from Primus.

A tiny counter popped up in the files. Thirty orns until the Solstice. 

Well, best to get started, then.

* * *

Still, Jazz spent the better part of a joor simply wandering his immediate area. He’d been in Staniz for most of his functioning, offlined in Kaon. He’d been planning to go to Iacon eventually, but he’d never quite made it. 

Seems it took dying to get here.

So Jazz was determined that, even if he was here for a reason, even if he had a month before he either succeeded and got to come back every stellar cycle, or failed and got stuck down in the Allspark.

Either way, he was going to enjoy being alive, in a brand-new frame that, just feeling it, was as or more flexible than his last one. He caught sight of himself in a window, and, even though he didn’t stop to admire, still grinned to himself. Man, he could get used to this. He wondered if this was the frame he’d have if he succeeded. He really, really hoped so.

Then he was at the steps of the fifty-first precinct. Jazz squinted as he looked up, wiping the snow from his visor. So this is where Prowl worked. Jazz almost started up the steps, before thinking through what he was about to do. “Hey, ‘M here for Prowl. Who am I? Well, I was offline an’ in th’ Allspark, then Primus sent m’ back t’ make him not hate th’ Solstice. Huh? No, ‘M not crazy.” Jazz thought, rocking back on his pedes, huffing and looking around. Across the street was a cafe. Turning toward it, carefully crossing the street, Jazz stepped in. The barista looked up.

“Afternoon!” He called out, cheerfully.

“Afternoon.” Jazz leaned on the counter. “Can I get some warm energon wi’ silver shavin’s?”

“Sure thing! For here or to go?” The barista asked, already turning around.

“For here.” Jazz hummed lightly as he watched the barista move around. “Actually, could ya help me out?”

The barista glanced up. “Maybe. What do you need?”

“‘M new t’ Iacon. Anythin’ fun I should know about? Anywhere needs a musician an’ dancer that ya know of?”

The barista chuckled. “You just move here, or tourist?”

“Not sure yet.” True enough, Jazz thought. “Don’t know how long ‘M gonna stay, but I thought I should find some temporary work.”

The barista nodded. “True enough. Well, it’s the Solstice season, so cafes are always looking for singers. Think we might be, but you’d have to ask my boss. His number’s on the card.” The barista pulled one out of the holder and handed it to Jazz. “As for fun, well, that depends on the fun. There’s a decent nightclub and bar down by the docks. Blurr’s.”

Jazz grinned. “Now that sounds like a party. Thanks.” Jazz fished the right shanix chip out of his subspace and paid for his drink, kicking back in a chair in the corner of the cafe. 

The mecha he saw come and go all seemed to be nice, respectable types, some with Solstice magnets or details, a few decked out in brand-new repaints. A couple Enforcers came through, but neither matched the description of Prowl. Finally, Jazz had to move from his spot, his energon long gone and the acceptable and non-awkward time to loiter afterwards coming to an end. Sending a quick text to the cafe owner asking about a job, Jazz stood up. Stretching, still not quite used to this particular frame, he set his cube in the wash tray, ruffled his plating, and headed out the door, squinting a little as the snow hit his face…

And ran right into another mech. Both slipped on the snow, landing on their afts on the pavement.

Jazz recovered first, coming back to his pedes in one swift movement, holding out a hand to the other.

“Sorry, m’mec…” Jazz trailed off as he registered the mech as an Enforcer, and one very specific Enforcer in particular.

Prowl was blinking up at Jazz, seeming slightly disoriented.

“Ya alright, m’mech?” Jazz managed to get out, forcing the words out around the sudden lump in his intake.

Pictures really didn’t do this mech justice. Too bad he hated the Solstice.

Prowl, after regarding Jazz’s hand for a moment, finally took it, accepting the help up. “I am still functional, yes.” Prowl responded, doorwings twitching. “I was simply not expecting to quite literally run into another mech. My tactical computer was not sure how to respond.”

“Makes sense.” Lots of Enforcers were cold-constructed with tactical units meant for advanced maneuvers, though Jazz had never heard of one that influenced reactions to such small things such as bumping into another mech. Prowl’s file had mentioned he was a pursuit officer and detective - maybe that had something to do with it. Regardless, Jazz had his target here now. “Let me buy ya a drink t’ make up for it?”

Doorwings twitched. “It was an accident, and hardly requires such a recompense.”

Jazz shrugged, hoping the gesture still seemed nonchalant. “Wouldn’t be any trouble, an’ I should have been watching where I was goin’.”

Prowl hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.” He turned to continue down the street, confusing Jazz, who followed, coming to walk next to him. 

“Not gonna go into th’ convenient cafe?” Jazz asked, glancing over his shoulder, where another group of Enforcers were entering the building. 

Prowl’s plating ruffled slightly. “There are far too many of my co-workers in there for me to adequately relax.” 

“Not a fan o’ yer job, then?”

“Quite the contrary. I am fond of my function. It is merely those that I have to work with that I find… tedious.”

Jazz chuckled. “Never introduced myself after th’ whole…” Jazz mimed a collision, complete with rattling sound effects. “Designation’s Jazz o’ Staniz.”

“Prowl of Petrex.”

“Petrex, huh? What’s a mech from there doing way up here in Iacon?”

Prowl glanced sideways at Jazz. “Career advancement. But I could ask the same of you.”

“Fair. Wasn’t m’ scene.”

“Then what is your ‘scene?’” 

“Music. Dancing.” Jazz grinned, turning and walking backwards. Prowl raised an optic ridge.

“That is unsafe.”

“Nah, it’s just picking yer gigs.” Jazz grinned wider, tone light.

Prowl’s doorwings twitched, along with his optic, and Jazz turned to walk forward again, giving the mech a break. “This time o’ year is good for traveling around. Lots o’ work for mechs who ain’t picky near th’ Solstice.” Jazz watched Prowl’s reaction carefully.

It was surprisingly neutral. 

“That is logical. There is much to do, and extra tourism during this time of year.”

So the mech didn’t flinch at the time of year. Jazz tried another tactic.

“So what are yer plans for th’ Solstice?” 

“Work.”

“No family? No friends?”

“I am sure that my similarly working coworkers will force me to come out for some sort of after-shift meal.”

“Seems lonely.”

“I have never found it so.” Prowl turned to the side, pushing open the door to a bar. “This is merely another holiday that many mechs want off, and so I fill in.”

Jazz blinked. Was the mech sparkless? “So ya don’t have a particular attachment t’ th’ Solstice? Ya don’t hate it, do ya? I mean…” Jazz gestured to the snow as they stepped into the bar. “It’s pretty, at least.”

“I am indifferent.” Prowl raised an optic ridge at Jazz. “Why are you curious about my feelings on the holiday?”

“Just never met a mech who didn’t have strong feelin’s one way o’ another.”

Prowl didn’t react to that, instead finding them a table near the back of the room, sitting where he could see the door. Jazz sat across from him.

After ordering their fuel (Jazz learned that Prowl liked his energon laced with propane and topped with copper), Jazz dragged Prowl into various topics, testing the waters, so to speak, on the kind of mech Prowl was. He liked classical music or anything with a logical progression, and he had very little to say about art or dance, instead preferring statistics and data. He was a detective now, though he’d originally been a pursuit unit tactician back in Petrex. 

Prowl answered most questions with little more than a twitch of his doorwings, but Jazz noticed that he didn’t ask any questions in return, almost tolerating Jazz’s presence more than enjoying it. Conscious of putting the mech off too much, Jazz finished his fuel quickly.

“Well, ‘M staying in Iacon for another month o’ so, so maybe I’ll see ya ‘round, m’mech.” 

“I doubt it. Unless you commit a crime, which I do not recommend.”

“Never say never, m’mech.” Jazz grinned at Prowl, fishing out the shanix to pay for their fuel. “Still, ‘M gonna head t’ my apartment before it gets too much later. Don’t really know m’ way around Iacon yet, so I don’t wanna get lost. See ya!” Jazz spun on his heel with a casual wave over his shoulder, leaving a slightly confused and curious Prowl behind, still at the table, doorwings twitching.

On the road, Jazz flopped down into his alt-mode, taking a quick second to run over his schematics as he moved into traffic, before almost laughing. If he wanted to commit a crime, he doubted the Enforcers would ever catch him. This frame was _sweet_.

It didn’t take long to get to the address that pinged as his, and Jazz glanced around the furnished studio apartment (though it was clear of knickknacks and anything but the most basic accommodations) before flopping out onto the berth and looking up at the ceiling, thinking about Prowl.

Someone with some sort of reason for hating the season he could have worked with. Those were a matter of being a friend, maybe accepting that while the season wouldn’t be like when they were a sparkling, maybe they could find some other reason to like it, or, at least, not hate it.

But how in the pits did you convince an _indifferent_ mech to like something?


	2. Chapter 2

Jazz couldn’t find an answer or Prowl for several orns. So he explored the city a little more, found little hole-in-the-walls with poetry readings and in the meantime, he got a response back from the cafe owner -- yes, they could use a singer, but did he play an instrument? Jazz, having already found an old electro-bass in a thrift shop down the street, was able to send an affirmative back to the cafe owner, with his general experience, and he was almost immediately pinged with a part-time schedule of three orns a week for the lunchtime and midday crowd. It wasn’t a lot of work, and it wouldn’t do much more than offer a light cover for Jazz just being an itinerant singer, but since that was all he needed, he accepted the offer, before also checking out Blurr’s. After sweet-talking the mech himself, Jazz got a weekend bartending job there -- again, more cover. Besides, Jazz had always enjoyed having a couple part-time jobs -- it kept things interesting. 

All the while, the orns on his timer ticked away -- twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…

Now, with twenty-three orns left, Jazz was sitting in the cafe, playing his final song for the afternoon. He had found that while this frame hadn’t played an instrument before, it was all in the processor, funnily enough. While his fingers were a bit sore from the lack of calluses, those would build up quickly enough, and meanwhile, Jazz was getting back into practice.

Jazz grinned out at the crowd as he finished and set down the instrument, quickly packing up for the day. His grin fell as he thought about the apartment he was living in. It almost wasn’t worth getting decor and new furniture, if he was only going to be here a month, but the place was sucking the spark out of him. At least a blanket, or maybe some snowglobes. Small things to make it feel a little more lived in. A stuffed mecha-animal on the sofa, maybe.

Jazz’s smile came back at the thought. Primus hadn’t said he couldn’t do his normal Solstice activities, and since Prowl was proving difficult to find… Jazz quickly looked up a few addresses, taking note of the ones that were accepting donations before considering something else.

If Prowl was really indifferent to the season, then maybe he’d never been Solstice shopping. Maybe taking Prowl Solstice shopping would help… especially if Jazz surprised him with why they were doing it. He seemed like the kind of mech that might be interested in doing nice things for others.

He did take the holiday so everyone else could go home, after all.

Practically skipping out of the cafe, Jazz might have missed him except for the flash of red that was his chevron. Prowl was just stepping out of the precinct. It wasn’t snowing today, but now Prowl was standing there, looking a little lost.

Crossing the street, Jazz waved, catching Prowl’s optic as he walked up to the other mech. “Hey, m’mech! Long time no see!”

Prowl’s doorwings flickered. “Jazz.”

“Ya even remembered m’ designation.” Jazz teased. “How’s th’ season goin’?”

“It is fine. Why are you here?”

“Just got off o’ work.” Jazz tilted his helm back towards the cafe. “Ya looked lost in yer own city.”

“The captain… made me take the rest of the orn off.” Prowl looked slightly annoyed. “He insisted that I go and get some fresh air, perhaps go skating. He said I should enjoy the season, rather than spending it doing paperwork.”

Jazz chuckled. “Have t’ agree with yer captain. But it’s yer lucky day. ‘M goin’ Solstice shopping. Ya can come with me. Beats being lost an’ alone.”

Prowl frowned. “I have nobody I need to buy anything for.”

“Window shoppin’s half th’ fun, m’mech. But I’ve got plans for what ‘M buyin’, an’ I wouldn’t mind help. Don’t know where things are yet, after all.” Jazz wasn’t above a little manipulation, so if Prowl didn’t go for this, he’d be happy to break out the turbo-puppy optics.

This was unnecessary, however, as Prowl nodded slowly, seeming to choose Jazz’s company over boredom for the time being. At least, that’s what Jazz hoped was happening.

“I suppose I can accompany you for a short time. At least until we find what you are looking for.”

“Ya won’t regret this, m’mech.”

“I am going to withhold my judgment on that statement for the time being.”

* * *

Prowl led the two downtown to a Solstice shopping mall, and, despite his original intention to leave then, stayed with Jazz.

“Who are you shopping for?” Prowl asked as they transformed and entered the mall.

Jazz grinned. “It’s a surprise. But th’ first thing we’re doin’ is wanderin’ around.”

“That seems inefficient.”

“Half the fun, m’mech.”

“Ah.” Was Prowl’s eloquent reply. And was that a hint of a smile? If quirking one corner of his mouth up was smiling, then Jazz considered it a win.

Grinning at his impromptu companion, Jazz started wandering from stall to stall, looking over all the assorted knickknacks and jewelry, fabrics and sparkling toys. Sometimes he bought something, or a few different things, but never too much from any one store, and mostly from those that sold toys, especially softer, stuffed ones. He did get some blankets and knickknacks for his apartment as well, but focused on his real reason for being there in the first place -- convincing Prowl of the fun of Solstice shopping. 

A few joors passed like this, Jazz’s subspace getting more and more packed as they went along, Jazz leading the way, Prowl trailing along after him, seemingly uninterested, but still watching everything Jazz did with a little curiosity, but not questioning it.

Maybe he’d be able to get Prowl out on the ice rink in another joor? Jazz smiled at the thought, before something else caught his optic. He stopped in front of a stall selling tiny motion machines. “Hey Prowler, look at these.”

Prowl’s wings twitched. “Prowler?”

Jazz grinned up at him. “Fits ya.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge, but didn’t comment, instead looking at what Jazz was pointing out to him. Seven little metal marbles were suspended in a line in the middle of a v-shaped metal cradle, and when Jazz picked up the end one, it swung back and smacked into the line, making the other end swing up… and swing back down, making the first swing again. On and on it went.

Prowl’s optics followed it, back and forth. Jazz’s grin never left his face. “Seems like th’ kind o’ thing yer into. Logical, scientific.”

Prowl turned away. “It’s a novelty, that’s all.” He said, stiffly.

Jazz’s grin faltered a little, but any reply he could have made was cut off by the sound of blaster fire and screaming mecha on the other side of the plaza.

Prowl jumped into action, dragging Jazz to the ground.

“Stay here.” Prowl ordered, before transforming and speeding across the plaza, swerving back and forth to avoid the blaster fire. The perpetrator hardly know what hit him as Prowl transformed and dragged the mech to the ground, wrestling the blaster away from him as he did so. It went off and hit a nearby stall, causing the stall’s support to collapse, sending the whole thing down in a pile of fabric and metal.

The whole thing was over in no more than a minute as Prowl wrestled the mech into handcuffs, subspacing the blaster and comming for a transport.

Jazz watched it all from the other side of the plaza, not having moved from where Prowl pushed him down, his jaw practically on the ground.

Pits, but the mech was good at his job. Jazz stood back up as the transport got there, and other Enforcers cleared the area.

He didn’t see Prowl again, the mech having been swept away with the transport.

Jazz did buy the little motion machine before he left.

* * *

With nineteen orns to go, Jazz was tapping his pedes at the bar that he knew Prowl occasionally went to. He would have hung out here more; however, it made very little sense to loiter when he had his own jobs and no idea when Prowl would finally leave his. Today, though, Jazz had a good feeling about hanging around here.

Sure enough, after about a joor of waiting, Prowl walked in, the snow melting off his frame almost immediately. Jazz waved to him, and with what seemed to be Prowl’s typical raised optic ridge and twitching doorwing, he walked over.

“Jazz.”

“Prowler.” Jazz matched Prowl’s matter of fact tone before smiling. “Fancy meetin’ ya here.”

“There is a strong probability you were intending just that.”

“Maybe so, mech. Maybe so. But I just wanted t’ make sure ya were okay after th’ whole…” Jazz gestured vaguely. “Y’know. Not usually how Solstice shopping is supposed t’ go.”

“While that incident was unusual for my ornly routine, it is not a unique incident. I am fine, as are all bystanders. No casualties reported is a good outcome.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jazz sipped his energon as Prowl sat next to him, promptly ordering his own. “So what happened after ya left?”

“We processed the mech responsible. He was on Syk, and so will likely receive a reduced sentence, especially with the lack of casualties.” Prowl responded, easily.

“Yer okay with that?”

“Why would I not be?”

“I dunno.”

“As I stated, he was on Syk, and while that is hardly an excuse, it is a reason. He will likely serve his sentence in a rehab program, rather than going to jail, and have to pay for damages. In this instance, justice has been served and so I am content with the outcome.”

Jazz leaned on the bar. “I guess I would be a little more concerned wit’ th’ after he gets out, maybe with what could’a happened.”

“There is no point to hypotheticals in this situation. What happened, happened, and it was, thankfully, victimless beyond property damage. As for what happens later,” Prowl’s doorwings went up and down, likely his version of a shrug, “That is for the courts to decide.”

“Suppose yer right, Prowler.” The two mechs fell into an oddly companionable silence, and Jazz turned to look out the window. The snow, which had only been a light flurry when Prowl had walked in, was looking slightly darker and a little thicker. “Hey Prowler, does tha’ storm look worse t’ ya too?” Jazz glanced back at Prowl.

Prowl turned his helm, regarding the storm with his usual impassivity. “I believe your assessment is correct.”

“Can ya make it home okay?”

“I can make it back to the precinct. Unfortunately, I only calculate a 41% chance that I make it back to my residence before the weather becomes dangerous to travel in if it continues to get worse.”

The bartender spoke up from the end of the bar, then, addressing the room as a whole. “It’s supposed to turn into a right snowstorm. Best get a move on if you don’t live nearby. Even if you do, I’m closing up early, so get your afts out of here.” His voice was cheerful, but firm. Mechs obeyed, paying their tabs and leaving.

“Guess that means us too.” Jazz looked outside again. “Might seem a little forward, but want t’ come back t’ m’ place? It’s nearby, an’ I’ve got warm energon an’ blankets. Ya shouldn’t have t’ spend th’ night at th’ precinct.”

Prowl vented. “Very well.” He flared his plating before clamping it down tightly. “I recommend you keep your plating close. If the storm gets worse, Iaconian snow has a tendency to blow sideways and stick in uncomfortable places.”

“Thanks for th’ warnin’, Prowler.” Jazz did the same as Prowl, flaring and then clamping down his plating. The two mechs made their way outside to the curb, where they transformed and, with Jazz leading the way, headed back to his apartment. Fumbling slightly with the keycode -- the snow was sticking to the number pad, and had already partially frozen one key in place -- Jazz let them both in to a sudden wave of warm air from his heating system, melting the snow off into the small drains in the entryway. For all his apartment was bare -- though less so, with the blankets and few small things he had gotten while shopping -- it was, at least, practical and warm. Say what one would about Iaconian weather -- at least their architecture accounted for it.

Jazz grabbed one of the blankets off the couch and handed it to Prowl, heading into the small kitchen to mix up two mugs of warmed energon (he didn’t have propane, but he put copper on Prowl’s and silver on his). He came back out to the sight of Prowl on one end of the sofa, inelegantly rolled into a blanket pile and looking relatively content.

“Make yerself at home.” Jazz teased lightly as he handed Prowl one of the mugs and curled up on the other end of the sofa, grabbing one of the two remaining blankets and wrapping it around his shoulders.

Prowl didn’t look the least bit embarrassed or perturbed. “I have a low heat output. It is unusual, and it often leads to me running cold, especially in this weather.”

Jazz tilted his helm. “So let m’ get this straight. In essence, yer a racer frame with an advanced tac unit installed, but you have a low heat output? Shouldn’t ya melt?”

The blankets went up and down a little, suggesting another shrug from Prowl. “It is a peculiarity of my construction. By all estimations, that is exactly what should happen, and did happen to the others created at the same time. Whoever came up with the design was likely executed for gross negligence and maliciousness.”

“That’s horrible, Prowler. An’ ya, I don’t know, don’t  _ feel _ anything about that?”

“Why? I had no attachment to my batch-mates.”

“But ya just said they all melted.”

“During tests before we were sparked, yes. I didn’t know who they were.”

“Then why--”

“Why was I put into this frame?”   
  


“Yeah.”

“My frame didn’t overheat at the first opportunity, and the engineer in charge likely considered that good enough. I still crash on occasion, usually from too much sensory input, or if the tac unit gets caught in a loop.” Prowl said all this with the utmost casualness, making Jazz spit the sip of energon in his mouth back into the mug.

“Crash?” Jazz was aghast. “Ya were cold-constructed, an’ yet they left ya in a frame where ya  _ crash _ ?”

“I was an interesting experiment. Then they figured out the problem with the others, got bored, and put me into society with a few shanix and an apology letter.”

“ _ Prowler _ .”

“It is not as though I have ever known another existence. Besides, so long as I am careful, I don’t crash on a regular basis. Usually, the most obvious signs that one is starting are my optics going glassy and my frame going stiff.”

“That’s not th’ point.”

Prowl finished off his energon. “I function, and I can fulfill my duty. That is all that is relevant.”

Jazz just shook his helm. “You are possibly th’ most forgiving mech I’ve ever met.”

“Hardly. I simply don’t hold a grudge for things that were before I had consciousness.”

Jazz glanced up at the ceiling. “I think I would.”

“That is illogical.”

“Mecha ain’t logical sometimes.”

“As I have daily proof.” Prowl muttered.

Jazz chuckled. “Who’s put a bee in your hood today?”

Prowl huffed slightly. “My partner, Barricade. He’s one of those who insist that I need to take a Solstice off every now and then, go find a courtmate ‘or something.’” Prowl’s hands came out long enough for the air quotes before returning inside the blanket. “What he and everyone else fail to understand is that I am perfectly happy to work the Solstice. It is just another time of year where there are too many crashes and overcharged mechs.”

“So ya don’t have anyone special?”

“As you said, mecha are not logical. When I was still in Petrex, I did try to find someone, but all of them thought I had, and I quote, either ‘too big of a stick up my aft’ or thought that I was ‘a sparkless drone who only thought in binary.’”

“They said that t’ yer face?”

“Yes.”

“‘M so sorry, Prowler.”

“It hardly matters now.”

“But it must have hurt ya.”

Prowl’s doorwings -- or more accurately, the blankets -- twitched. “The first couple of times, I was somewhat distressed. However, as time went on, I simply expected that most relationships would end that way. The longest I managed to keep a romantic partner was two vorns, and that was only because he and I were detectives together.”

“What happened t’ him?”

“He has had at least two conjuxes since then. I lost track of him after the second one passed.”

“Makes ya feel any better, m’ last courtmate thought I was focusing too much on m’ music.” Jazz leaned back into the sofa. “Dumped me at an open mic. They’d signed up right after m’, thought they were gonna sing. Told th’ whole room an’ then left.” Jazz grinned ruefully. “Never had so many mecha want t’ buy m’ free drinks, though.”

Prowl set his mug down on the small table. “It seems that both of us have had poor luck with that.”

“Yeah.”

The two sat in silence for a while, Jazz lost in his thoughts. So if Prowl didn’t have family -- not even batch-mates -- or really any friends, and he worked every Solstice, then it started to make sense why he’d not feel any particular way about it. If he had had no experiences either way, then… at least he was a blank slate. Jazz was determined to make this the single best Solstice for Prowl ever… even if shopping had ended off rough.

Before he could suggest what was on his processor, however, Prowl spoke up.

“You play the electro-bass?” He asked, tilting his helm toward it.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Would…” Prowl hesitated. “Would you mind playing a song? It has been a long time since I had the opportunity to listen to live music. If it is too much trouble, I understand.”

Jazz just grinned. “Not too much trouble at all, Prowler.” Jazz stood up and picked up the instrument, settling back on the edge of the sofa. “Do ya have a preference?”

“No.”

Jazz hummed. “Then…” His fingers started to wander over the strings, picking out a melody that he’d learned back as a sparkling. “Somethin’ by Glissade?”

“I enjoy his work.” Prowl settled back, minutely.

“Good.” Jazz smiled as the melody started to come back to him. Playing it a second time, Jazz sang the lyrics as well, though Prowl hadn’t asked. The song was about one reassuring the singer’s love that they were the only true love, and it was one of Jazz’s favorites. He lost himself in the music, only coming back once it was done, looking up at Prowl.

Prowl was watching him, optics riveted on Jazz’s face. Jazz looked down again.

“Been awhile since I sang that one.” Jazz started to apologize.

“It was wonderful.” Prowl spoke up. “You are very talented. If you were ever in concert, and I was not working, I would come to hear you sing.”

“Not bad for a factory worker, then?” Jazz chuckled, slightly embarrassed at the pointed, personal praise.

The blankets twitched. “You were a factory worker?”

“Like I said. Staniz wasn’t m’ scene.” Jazz changed the subject. “So, about that shoppin’ trip…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to ask what he was thinking.

“It ended poorly. But… I enjoyed it up until that point.” Prowl said, seeming almost confused by his own statement, but accepting the change of subject.

“I’ll say.” Jazz smiled, just a little, at Prowl’s confession. “But I managed t’ get enough stuff before all that happened.”

“I was going to ask why you were buying such a significant amount of toys.” Prowl looked around. “I do not see any of them, though I see some of your other purchases.”

“It’s a...surprise, o’ sorts. Do ya have tomorrow off?”

“Yes.” Prowl looked at Jazz, slightly suspiciously. “Why?”

“Can ya trust m’ for th’ next,” Jazz checked the clock, ignoring his countdown timer, “twenty-four joors?”

“Is what you are planning illegal in any form?”

“Not in th’ slightest. In fact, it’s quite th’ opposite.”

“Then...yes.”

“Great!” Jazz grinned, standing up from the couch, setting his electro-bass back on its stand. “Then ya need good recharge. I can tell ya from experience that this can drain yer energy.” He glanced toward the berthroom. “Ya can have th' berth, if ya want. I’ll recharge out here.”

“Nonsense.” Prowl was firm. “I will not force you out of your own berth. I am used to much more uncomfortable accommodations, and had I gone to the precinct, I would have been recharging on a couch there. From experience, I can say that this is already more comfortable.”

Jazz couldn’t say that he wasn’t glad to stay in his own berth, but he was still concerned. “Ya going t’ be warm enough?”

“There are plenty of blankets, and your apartment is quite warm already. I will be fine.” Prowl hesitated. “Thank you for your concern, however.” The last came out a little stiff, like he was reading off of a script. 

From what Jazz knew of the mech so far, it wasn’t entirely impossible that he was.

“If yer sure.” Jazz finally said, shrugging. “If ya get too cold, kick m' out an' take th' berth. I won’t be offended.”

“I am sure that will be unnecessary.” 

“Then good night, Prowler.”


	3. Chapter 3

Prowl did not need to kick Jazz out of the berth -- though, Jazz thought, Prowl wouldn’t have even if he’d needed it -- and when Jazz came out of recharge in the morning, Prowl was in the kitchen, poking through his cupboards for energon additives.

Jazz stretched. “Mornin’, Prowler.”

“Good morning.” Prowl responded, without looking at Jazz. “Your kitchen is not logically organized.”

Jazz chuckled. “If yer looking for th’ copper, it’s in the one above the dispenser.”

“I already checked in there.”

“Back o’ th’ cupboard.”

“Ah.” Prowl saw the bottle and pulled it out, finally looking at Jazz. “Alphabetization exists for a reason.”

Jazz just grinned as Prowl slid the second cube across to him, already topped with silver. So Prowl had noticed Jazz’s preference last night. “Haven’t had th’ time yet. But I know where everythin’ is.”

Prowl made a disbelieving sound, but didn’t comment further, instead sitting on a stool to drink his energon. Jazz leaned against the wall.

“Once yer done, if ya want t’ hit th’ washrack, I’ve got plenty o’ cleanser an’ wax, an’ we don’t need t’ leave for at least two joor.”

“You are not going to inform me as to our destination?”

“Nope. But I will suggest ya stay pretty utilitarian. Anythin’ fancier probably won’t survive th’ orn.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge, finishing off his energon, standing, and setting the cube in the sink. “Then I will take your offer.” Prowl headed off to the washrack, leaving Jazz in the kitchen. 

Jazz heard the cleanser turn on, and pushed off the wall to put his own cube in the sink before returning to his berthroom to pile all the toys he had bought on the shopping trip (and a few more he’d picked up since then) onto his berth. Once Prowl was out of the washrack (looking shiny, but not too much so -- Jazz idly thought that he looked pretty nice polished up like that --) Jazz took his turn, getting the cleanser under all of his plating, quickly applying a layer of durable wax once he was dry. 

All in all, it took less than a joor for both of them to be washed, refueled, and have subspaces full of sparkling toys, as well as Jazz’s electo-bass, a last-minute thought on Jazz’s part. Prowl had simply raised another optic ridge at Jazz stuffing both of their subspaces full, but hadn’t commented, going along with the “surprise” that Jazz had planned.

Jazz just hoped Prowl liked sparklings.

Leaving Jazz’s apartment and transforming at the curb, Jazz figured it was high time he pinged the address to Prowl, and did so. The mech beside him hesitated.

“A sparkling orphanage?”

“Yep.” Jazz popped the ‘p’. “Up for it?”

“I agreed to accompany you.”

“Not an answer, Prowler.”

“I am… unaccustomed to that many sparklings at once. I am not disagreeable to the idea, however.”

“If yer uncomfortable, I can do it by m’self.”

“No, it is not uncomfortable, per se. It is simply a new experience. Why are we doing this?”

“Sparklin’s like that don’t usually get Solstice presents. So we’re takin’ them some.”

“Ah.”

The two merged into traffic, driving most of the way in silence before Prowl spoke again.

“When did you begin doing this? Or is this the first time?”

“Nah, Prowler. I started doin’ this vorns an’ vorns ago. Soon as I had th’ extra income t’ do it with.”

“May I ask why?”

Jazz was silent for a moment. “Came from a sparklin’ orphanage m’self. Wasn’t ever adopted, an’ I aged out.” He finally said. “They paid for m’ adult frame, but that was all.”

“Did you ever receive presents like this?”

“Once.” Jazz smiled to himself. “An’ I got candies from th’ Winter Sparks almost every year.”

Prowl hummed. “I remember the Winter Sparks. We only had two in Petrex that I was aware of. While I was not a sparkling in the traditional sense, I recall that they still gave me food the first year I was on my own.”

Jazz hummed. “Any here in Iacon?”

“Not that I am aware of. They have dwindled in the past few vorns.”

“I wonder why?”

“Seeing as how they never answered questions as to where they came from in the first place, that info is mere speculation.”

“What do ya speculate then?”

Prowl was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I think, however illogical that it may be, that they were some sort of manifestation of Primus’s will.”

Jazz didn’t let that stop his steady roll, though it took him aback. “Didn’t take ya for a believer.”

“I have seen too many accidents that should have ended in fatalities end up having everyone walk away with minor scrapes, too many mecha suddenly find that last twenty shanix they need to pay their bills, and too many last-moment improbable rescues to not believe in something. Primus makes the most sense.”

“I guess ya would see a lot o’ that as an Enforcer. But ya said were. So ya think they’re all gone?”

“I don’t have that data. But I do know that no mecha have reported a sighting in at least a vorn, and the one that was reported in the vorn before was in Kaon, and the mech was offlined the next morning.”

“What a coincidence.”

“It is Kaon. Likely the mech was involved in illicit activities.”

“I guess.” Jazz fell back into his thoughts, as did Prowl. They were only a couple blocks from the orphanage, and as soon as they were at the doors, Jazz transformed, Prowl following close behind. He walked up and rang the doorbell, smiling back at Prowl.

“Haven’t been here before, so I don’t know these sparklin’s, or how they’ll react t’ things.” He said, quietly.

“I would assume they are like sparklings everywhere.” Prowl’s voice was equally quiet, but his lips quirked. “Overexcitable, loud, and generally sticky.”

Jazz laughed, only managing to get himself under control when the door opened. He grinned at the pink femme who was now standing there, slightly confused, mirth still twinkling in his optics.

“Ya must be Lightbeam. ‘M Jazz. We spoke on th’ comms.”

Lightbeam’s face lit up, recognition in her optics. “You’re the one who wanted to bring Solstice gifts for the sparklings. Come in, come in. And who is this with you?”

“I am Prowl.” Prowl tilted his helm down, doorwings moving up and down. “I am an Enforcer with the fifty-first precinct.”

“Enforcer?” Lightbeam raised an optic ridge at Jazz, who grinned.

“Nah, ‘M not in trouble. Prowl’s a friend who agreed t’ help m’ today.”

“Then we are very glad to have you both here. Come into the sitting room. The sparklings are just finishing their breakfast.”

“Ya have fifty, ya said?”

She sighed. “Fifty-one, now. A vornling was dropped on our doorstep last night.”

Jazz reached out and patted her on her shoulder. “I brought more than enough. There’s always one or two more this time o’ year. I’ll give ya the extras so ya can give them t’ new arrivals.”

“You are very kind, Jazz.” Lightbeam’s optics betrayed how tired she was. “We’re calling the new one Bolt. He’s still quite upset, so I apologize if he cries.”

“I was there. Won’t bother m’ one bit.” Jazz reassured her, before looking back at Prowl. “They won’t be bothered by an Enforcer?”

Lightbeam chuckled a little, before venting. “More likely they will ask too many questions. I hope that won’t bother you?” She asked Prowl.

Prowl shook his head. “I am accustomed to inane questions from adult mecha that should know better. Sparklings will be a… unique change.”

Lightbeam smiled at him, settling them in two beat-up armchairs by the fire before the sound of stampeding sparklings carried through the hallways toward them. Jazz grinned at Prowl.

“Here’s th’ fun part.” Jazz joked, before the herd came into the room, the faster sparklings that had made their way to the front freezing at the sight of two strangers before Lightbeam shooed them into the room, making the sparklings sit down in neat rows throughout the room. Those at the back were somewhat more subdued than the first ones, but they were still actively curious. Once all of them were settled, Lightbeam clapped her hands.

“This is Jazz and Prowl. They’ve brought you all a Solstice surprise.”

The sparklings looked more curious than before, if that was possible. One raised their hand. “What kind of surprise?”

“Th’ kind o’ surprise that every sparklin’ needs.” Jazz answered, grinning at them. “Who wants t’ come up here first?”

Most of the sparklings refused to move, but one stood up, a little Praxian frame.

“I’ll come up. I’m not scared of anything!” He said, picking his way to the front. “Miss Lightbeam says someday I’m going to be the bravest mech ever, and I’m going to do lots of cool things like travel the world.” He babbled as he got closer, hopping between sparklings, who just leaned out of the way, a few smiling now. “You’re an Enforcer, aren’t you? An Enforcer brought me here. You’ve got a Praxian frame too.” He was in front of Prowl now, looking up at him with big optics.

“I am.” Prowl replied, eyeing Jazz, who grinned and gestured toward his subspace. “Jazz is telling me I’m supposed to give you one of these now.” His lips quirked again.

Jazz just rolled his optics as Prowl reached into his subspace and pulled out a stuffed turbo-fox, handing it to the sparkling. The room exploded with cheers as the others realized that the two strangers had brought toys, and Lightbeam had to jump in to get them into two reasonably straight lines before Jazz and Prowl found themselves completely mobbed. 

Prowl looked at the sparkling that he’d given the turbo-fox to. “What is your designation?”

“We all call him Bluestreak!” One of the other sparklings shouted, and Bluestreak looked down with a smile on his face.

Prowl reached out and patted his shoulder, slightly awkwardly. “It is a good designation.” He said. “Happy Solstice.”

“Thank you very much!” Bluestreak scampered away, the line moving up then.

The next half a joor was a blur, both mechs handing out toys as fast as they could, while still asking each sparkling their designation and age. Lightbeam brought Bolt up, and Jazz gave him an oversized mecha-bear, making the shy, still teary sparkling smile ever so slightly.

Once all the sparklings had toys, most broke off to go play, while a few stayed to ask Jazz and Prowl questions. 

“Do you sing? What’s it like catching bad mecha? Do you play an instrument? Do you really sit around and eat energon donuts all day?”

Jazz had just laughed. “Do ya want t’ hear a song?” Jazz asked, pulling out his electro-bass to a resounding “Yes!”

“Then yer gonna hafta tell m’ what ya want t’ hear, ‘cause I know lots o’ songs.”

Jazz occupied with that, Prowl had struggled to pick a question to answer first.

“I do not sit and eat treats all day, although I do indulge on occasion. I suppose catching bad mecha is… interesting, in its own way. I see many very normal, very nice mecha as well, however.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched.

“What was the most gruesome murder you’ve ever seen?” One sparkling asked, making Prowl’s wings go stiff.

“I hardly think that’s an appropriate…”

But the sparklings were not to be dissuaded. “Were there ripped off limbs?”

Jazz, still listening in spite of his own group, glanced over, grinning. “Yeah, Prowler. Were there limbs?” He teased.

Prowl looked helpless in the face of half a dozen sparklings on one side and Jazz on the other. His wings twiched again. “If you will not have nightmares, I will tell you about _one_ investigation I was on when I was brand-new to the force.”

The sparklings whooped, all crowding in further to hear. Prowl began to tell the story of a mecha who had made poor financial decisions, and so had decided to become an assassin (though not a very good one, as the Enforcers caught him after just two murders), and, although gliding over the most gruesome details, and being somewhat stiff at first, found the sparklings an attentive audience, who didn’t ask too many irrelevant questions. Bluestreak was one of the listeners, though he was leaning against Jazz’s chair, having been somewhat pushed aside by bigger mechlings. He spoke up. 

“But were the packs of shanix planted in his home?” He asked, making Prowl tilt his helm in thought.

“I do not think so, as we found significant amounts of other evidence that he was, in fact, the assassin, and we did catch him in an attempted third act. However, we would not have had that breakthrough had it not been for the shanix, so it is an interesting possibility.”

Jazz, having left off his music once the sparklings in his group became more interested in what Prowl had to say (something that Jazz was hardly offended by -- Enforcers were always more exotic to a sparkling than a musician --), listened too, watching Prowl’s wings gently move back and forth as he became more and more comfortable with his audience. Even those that had been shyer previously started to come out of their shells, asking questions once the story was done. Some were clarifying, some were a little silly, and some were surprisingly insightful. But Prowl was still the most interesting one there, as the sun filtered through the windows, hitting his doorwings and side in a particular way that made his white and black paint almost sparkle.

Jazz’s vents hitched ever so slightly, which did not go unnoticed by Bluestreak.

“Is Prowl your courtmate?” He asked, thankfully quietly.

Jazz jumped a little, turning to see the deep, older-than-they-should-be blue optics fixed on his, helm tilted a little to the side.

“Nah, baby Blue.” He smiled lightly. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh.” Bluestreak said, somewhat disappointed. “I just wondered ‘cause you look at him like Lightbeam looks at her courtmate. Her courtmate doesn’t come around very often but he’s a very nice mech who brings us all rust sticks. I don’t remember what his designation is though because it’s really long but he has two sym...symbi…” Bluestreak struggled.

“Symbiotes?” Jazz suggested.

Bluestreak nodded gravely. “Symbiotes. They’re very nice too and they let us pet them.” Bluestreak’s optics blinked sleepily, and he climbed up into Jazz’s lap. “I wish you were courtmates. Then you’d adopt me. I like Prowl. And you.” He whispered as Jazz wrapped one arm around him to keep him steady.

Jazz laughed softly. “I’m sure some mecha will love ya soon, baby Blue.” But Bluestreak was already in recharge, and Jazz looked back up at Prowl, who had seemingly missed the whole exchange, still busy answering questions.

If only he didn’t have just eighteen orns left, Jazz thought as he watched Prowl’s ever-so-slightly smiling face answer another sparkling’s eager question.

* * *

Two orns later, Jazz was sitting at a little place on a side-street called Happy Gears. It was one of those little hole-in-the-walls that Jazz had found in his first few orns here, but hadn’t really had a chance to go back to. They were having an open-mic night, and Jazz had signed up to sing. He’d invited Prowl to stop by once his shift was over, and Prowl had agreed, with the caveat that if there was an emergency, he would not be able to make it.

Jazz had understood. The job came first for Prowl, as much as he was trying to change that. The visit to the orphanage had gone… well, Jazz supposed. Prowl seemed thoughtful, but almost cheery as they walked out, having left the few leftover toys with Lightbeam, who thanked them profusely as she walked them out to the sounds of sparklings playing happily.

“I hope you come back next year.” Lightbeam’s optics were a little watery. “The sparklings loved having you here, I can tell.”

“We loved talkin’ t’ them.” Jazz assured here, grinning. “I don’t know if I’ll be able t’ make it, I move around a lot, but maybe Prowler here will stop by.” He said, lightly.

Prowl had surprised him a little with his answer.

“I will make it a priority to at least stop by, even if I cannot bring quite so many toys.” Prowl said. “Though if I mention it at the precinct, I suspect most mecha will chip in.”

Lightbeam had hugged Prowl then, making his wings briefly stiffen before he patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, thank you. We’re one of the smaller orphanages, so we get forgotten in the toy drives most years. Even if you can’t bring anything, they’d love to see you again.” She’d smiled then, and released Prowl, waving as she shut the door, cutting off the sounds of joyful sparklings.

Jazz led the way back to the curb, just about to transform before he received the comm ping.

“My comm number.” Prowl clarified at Jazz’s confused look. “It will make it easier if you have… any other things you would like to do together.” He looked a little embarrassed, not quite meeting Jazz’s optics.

Jazz smiled at him. “Ya might regret that, Prowler.” He pinged Prowl back, making the doorwings twitch.

“I will attempt not to.”

This all led to the agreed-on date ( _but not a date_ , Jazz insisted to himself) here at the Happy Gears. 

Jazz was leaning on the bar, half-listening to the other singers and musicians, more intent on looking at the door every time the bell above it rang.

A solid joor passed like this, but it was never Prowl. One mech had sidled up to Jazz, all smarm and bad pick-up lines. In a previous life, Jazz might have decided to frag it all and go home with the mech, but...

But Prowl hadn’t commed to tell him he wouldn’t be coming, hadn’t said anything to the contrary. So Jazz had to believe he was just running a bit late, and so he turned the other mech down, who, despite not liking the answer, was dragged away by his much more reasonable friend. 

Another half a joor, and it was almost Jazz’s turn. His designation was called just as he finished his drink.

Prowl still hadn’t shown.

One original song later -- something he had almost finished composing before his deactivation-and-return, and hadn’t quite figured out lyrics to yet, but at least had the tune done now -- Jazz looked out at the audience, which had a mixture of clear regulars, some courtmates, and hopeful musicians...

But no Prowl.

Jazz couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his spark as he forced a smile onto his face, climbing down from the stool with his electro-bass, putting it away as he ordered another drink.

Maybe Jazz just wasn’t good enough company without a herd of sparklings around to ask interesting questions.


	4. Chapter 4

Jazz tapped his pedes as he waited at Prowl’s regular table in the bar for the mech himself.

Jazz had pinged his comm, to no response, so he was waiting, determined to get an answer out of Prowl. He didn’t feel like the type to stand him up without reason -- something that Jazz had plenty of experience with with other mecha -- but not even responding to his texts and calls? After specifically giving him his comm number? Something was rotten in Praxus, and Jazz wasn’t about to go down without an answer.

But as the typical time that Prowl would arrive came and went, Jazz was forced to admit that either Prowl was avoiding him, or something had happened in the past couple of orns. Jazz tossed the shanix on the table to pay for his fuel, and walked out the door.

He didn’t quite know what to do now. Either he gave up and hoped that somehow, Prowl would get back in contact, or he tried to hunt the mech down. He was fairly certain the mech was still online -- after all, if he was offline, there would be no reason for Jazz to continue functioning. Jazz huffed as he rocked back and forth on his pedes, trying to decide if he headed right toward his apartment, or left towards the precinct.

Because really, if Prowl was going to be anywhere, it was at work.

Jazz, having made up his processor, turned left and started walking. It was only a few blocks, and so soon Jazz was standing in front of the imposing black doors, with the precinct number and motto over them. Steeling himself -- the Enforcer precincts were never somewhere that the old Jazz of Staniz would ever be caught dead in, at least voluntarily -- Jazz opened the door, the warm air melting the accumulated frost on his plating.

Walking in, Jazz looked around. The fifty-first was cleaner than any of the precincts Jazz had ever been in in Staniz, at least here in the front where the public would be expected to see it. 

Now, the cells would be the real tell of how deep this seemingly friendly, professional atmosphere went. But since that wasn’t Jazz’s goal for this afternoon, he made a beeline for the front desk.

“How may I help you?” The receptionist, a green and white mech, looked up, meeting Jazz’s optics.

“‘M lookin’ for a friend. Prowl. He’s a detective here.”

“I’m afraid he isn’t in right now.”

Jazz sighed. “That’s what I was afraid ya would say. Haven’t seen him ‘round an’ I’m gettin’ concerned. He’s not respondin’ t’ his comms either.”

The receptionist raised an optic ridge. “Perhaps he simply does not wish to speak with you. If you do not have evidence of a crime, or something pressing that needs to be looked into, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Ya can’t give m’ any clue as t’ where Prowler is?”

“ _Good orn_.” The receptionist was frosty.

Jazz opened his mouth to speak again, but was stopped by a large hand on his shoulder. He tried to shrug it off. The hand didn’t move.

“What seems to be the problem here?” The voice was soft, but deep. Jazz glared up at the red and blue mech, preparing to say something, but the receptionist spoke first.

“This mech is inquiring after Detective Prowl.” The receptionist’s tone was slightly less frosty as he looked at the new arrival, leaning forward just a little. “I’ve already asked him to leave. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Prowl?” The blue and red mech looked at him curiously. “You must be Jazz?”

Jazz paused, his cutting comment already forgotten. “How d’ ya know who I am?”

The mech chuckled, leading Jazz toward an office. Jazz, figuring that playing along was his best bet right now, went without a fight. “Prowl mentioned your trip to the sparkling orphanage the other orn. Besides, so few decent looking mechs come looking for him, it was a simple guess.”

Jazz hummed. “Probably why th’ receptionist didn’t want t’ believe I was just lookin’ for Prowl out o’ the goodness o’ my spark?”

“That, and we don’t give out personal information on our officers.” The mech said with some humor. “I’m Orion Pax, by the way.”

“Prowl’s never…”

“Never mentioned me?” Orion chuckled. “I’m sure he has, but, well…” He gestured to the office as he gently nudged Jazz in.

“Ah.” Jazz said, looking around. “Yer th’ Captain.”

“I am.” Orion settled behind the desk as Jazz flopped sideways in one of the other chairs, one leg slung over the arm, the other barely on the floor, his back in the corner.

“So are ya gonna tell m’ where Prowler’s at?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s that mean?”

“What it means is that I haven’t decided whether I like you yet or not.” Orion leaned back in his chair.

“Well, when are ya gonna do that?”   


“In a bit.” Orion’s lips quirked.

“Can we make it a faster bit?” Jazz started to squirm.

“Who are you?”

“Jazz o’ Staniz. But I’m sure ya already knew that.”

“See, that’s where I get hung up.” Orion leaned forwards. Jazz squirmed a little more. “Prowl hasn’t looked into it yet, for some reason, but I always look up mechs interested in Prowl.”

“Prowler’s an adult. He can take care o’ himself.”

Orion nodded. “He can. That’s not why I do it. The last mech interested in Prowl ended up hurting him a lot. If it makes you feel any better, consider this either the 'hurt him and you die' talk from one of Prowl’s only friends, or personal curiosity.”

“Alright, I get th’ message. I’ll leave Prowler alone.” Jazz started to stand up, suddenly very interested in getting out of there  _ now _ .

“Jazz of Staniz was in a fatal accident a little less than a deca-cycle ago.”

Jazz froze, turning his helm to look Orion in the optics. There was no judgement there, only curiosity and something a little guarded.

“So? Lots o’ Jazzes out there.”

“Hardly. All the best names are taken.” Orion’s lips quirked. “All I want to know is this: did you steal Jazz of Staniz’s identity to hide from a crime, did someone falsify reports, or is there truly more than one Jazz of Staniz out there?”

Jazz opened and closed his mouth a few times, finding it suddenly very difficult to lie to this mech. Orion waited patiently, hands folded in front of him, optics locked onto Jazz’s.

“None o’ th’ above, m’mech.” He finally admitted, sliding back down into his chair.

Orion merely hummed. “You’re not lying.” He leaned back again. “Why are you here?”

“Ya wouldn’t believe me if I said.”

“Try me.”

“Primus sent me back t’ teach th’ spirit o’ th’ Solstice t’ Prowler.” Jazz smirked, fully expecting Orion to try and toss him in a cell, pending a full psychiatric workup, probably with a mnemosurgeon. But Orion just nodded slowly, not responding. Jazz’s smirk fell. “Yer gonna _believe_ me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Orion smiled.

“Because it sounds crazy, that’s why!” Jazz was, admittedly, flabbergasted. Who _was_ this mech?

“Exactly. It’s crazy. But I’ve learned that sometimes, the crazy things are the truth.” Orion shrugged. “Who am I to say how Primus works? I don’t hold the Matrix. All I know is that sometimes, things have to be taken on faith.”

Jazz just blinked. “Yer stranger than Prowler.”

Orion chuckled. “We’re all strange in our own ways.” He looked at Jazz for a moment longer before nodding, almost to himself, before pulling out a datapad and writing something down. “Here’s Prowl’s address. He’s out sick, and he might enjoy the company.”

“Then why hasn’t he been answering his comms?” Jazz asked, glancing down at the datapad.

Orion coughed slightly. “I’m… afraid that might be partially my fault.” He admitted. “As a rule, I have First Aid, our medic, turn off Prowl’s comms whenever he’s on sick leave. He has a tendency to try and tune into the Enforcer bands and slip out to catch criminals when he should be resting otherwise.”

Jazz had to laugh. “That sounds like Prowler.” He was still a little sore at being stood up, but at least Prowl had an excuse for it. Better than some of his exes, that was for sure. “Guess this means you like me?”

“I’m still deciding.” Orion smiled. “But I think Prowl likes you, and I don’t think you’re lying. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

“I won’t.” Jazz promised as he backed out, datapad in hand. “Believe m’, hurtin’ Prowler is th’ last thin’ I want t’ do.” He did shut the door quietly behind him, before leaving the precinct as fast as possible. The receptionist didn’t look up, and Jazz was perfectly fine with that.

Rather than head to Prowl’s right away, Jazz stopped by his apartment first, grabbing everything he needed to make his special get-well energon mixture, just in case Prowl didn’t have it. Once everything was collected -- including one of the blankets Prowl had used the other night, and seemed to really like. Then, glancing at the datapad one more time, Jazz sped off toward the address listed. While it was still in a decent part of town similar to the area Jazz lived in, it was far closer to the riverfront and the docks down there. Finding the right townhouse, Jazz rang the doorbell.

He had to wait a solid two minutes before he heard shuffling on the other side, the sound of a door chain, and the door creaking open to an owlish stare and a slow, confused blink from Prowl.

“Jazz.” He said, voice thick. “What are you doing here?”

Jazz cracked a smile. “Yer boss isn’t half bad, ya know. Told m’ ya were sick, an’ gave m’ yer address so I could check up on ya. Can I come in?”

Prowl just stood to the side, letting Jazz in. “You’ll get sick too.” Prowl protested, weakly.

Jazz shook his helm. “Haven’t gotten sick since I was a sparklin’ an’ I don’t intend t’ start now. Where’s yer kitchen?”

Prowl gestured wordlessly, and Jazz, before he took another step, pulled out the blanket and turned around to drape it over Prowl’s shoulders. Prowl’s doorwings twitched, and he shuffled after Jazz as he headed toward the kitchen to mix up cubes of energon for both of them. Prowl simply watched as Jazz did so, taking the cube wordlessly.

Jazz raised an optic ridge. “Yer sicker than I thought.”

Prowl’s engine hiccuped. “I do not get like this very often.” He managed, though it was raspy. 

“I’d hope not.” Jazz moved Prowl towards his sofa, arranging him with the blanket and cube. “But that’s why ‘M here. An’ don’t worry, after seeing ya like this, I totally forgive ya missin’ m’ play at Happy Gears.”

Prowl’s doorwings drooped. “I apologize. I started showing symptoms in the middle of my shift, and First Aid got a hold of me and turned off my comms before I could contact you.”   


Jazz chuckled. “Yer boss told m’ that too. Don’t worry, Prowler. Knowin’ yer okay an’ just sick is enough apology and explanation.”

Prowl’s engine hiccuped again, and he took a sip of the energon, before grimacing. “What is this?”

“‘M special mix for when mechs get sick. Drink up, Prowler. It may not taste good, but it’ll have ya back on yer pedes in a few orns.”

“I think I’d rather be sick.”

“Well, look. Yer sense o’ humor is back, which means it’s workin’ already.”

“I doubt that.”

* * *

But Jazz was right ( _ as usual _ , he thought smugly), and Prowl was back to normal in a few orns, even having been cleared by First Aid, who had given Jazz a once-over before nodding. Jazz felt as though he'd passed some sort of test, only he wasn't sure what it was. 

While Jazz had gone back to his apartment the first night, Prowl had quietly asked him to stay for the nights after that, his doorwings drooping slightly.

A few blankets later, and Jazz was installed on the couch, just in case Prowl took a bad turn at any point, or just needed the company to keep his processor occupied, especially in the last two orns when he felt fine, but First Aid insisted he stay at home.

All the while, Jazz ignored the steadily ticking timer, casually reminding him that he only had fifteen, then fourteen...thirteen...twelve...eleven orns left before the Solstice.

Prowl’s health was more important than some vague quest to make him like the Solstice season, anyways. The two spent a fair bit of time on the couch just watching holovids or playing simple tactical games. To Jazz’s horror, Prowl admitted that his tac unit didn’t slow down at all while he was ill, making the lack of company or real challenge while he was ill a bit maddening. So Jazz put up as good of an offense as he could against Prowl’s tac unit, keeping it occupied with the most random scenarios that his processor could fathom while Prowl’s normal processor and frame got as much rest as possible.

But now, with ten orns left, Prowl was back to normal, and so Jazz was picking up the paraphernalia that had gotten scattered around while he was staying there. He was, unsurprisingly, less tidy than Prowl, and it showed, even after just a couple orns.

He hummed his song that he was still trying to find the lyrics to as he worked, before the corner of his optic caught the sight of Prowl’s doorwings in the doorway.

Jazz looked up. Prowl was standing there, looking a little uncomfortable.

“What’s up, Prowler?”

“I am aware that you have forgiven me for my discourtesy in leaving you with no knowledge as to my whereabouts, but I still feel… guilty.” Prowl shuffled his pedes a little, and Jazz shook his helm.

“Ya were sick, Prowler. It’s fine.”

“I still wish to make it up to you. There is a poetry reading this afternoon at a small cafe and bookstore about five blocks away. I have gone there on occasion to relax, and… I think you would enjoy it.”

“Yer comin’ with m’?”

“Naturally.”

Jazz came over, laying a hand on Prowl’s arm, making the other mech stiffen slightly.

“Then ‘M sure I will.”


	5. Chapter 5

Sitting side-by-side in a slightly darkened booth at the poetry reading, Jazz could almost believe that they were just two normal mechs hanging out for a few joor. Much of the poetry was laughable, some was okay, and a few were outstanding, but as the evening wore on, Jazz felt his optics grow heavy and, despite the light energon in front of him, started to lean into Prowl. At first it was just his shoulder, then his side, and finally his helm dropped onto Prowl’s shoulder. 

He could feel Prowl’s doorwings twitch, but then Prowl’s arm slid around him and pulled him that much closer into him. Jazz hummed appreciatively as the latest poet came off the stage, quickly replaced by the next. “For someone with a low heat output, yer surprisingly comfortable, Prowler.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched again. “Thank you?” Prowl sounded lightly amused. “I believe it is time to get you to a place where you can actually recharge.”

“Don’t wanna move.”

“Regardless, you must.” Prowl nudged Jazz up. “Come. We will return to my place, and you can go back to yours in the morning.”

“Alright.” Jazz mumbled, the recognition that Prowl wasn’t going to simply let him rest cutting through the haze in his processor. “Lead th’ way, Prowler.”

* * *

Jazz onlined in the morning to a warm cube of energon on the table next to the couch. Jazz sat straight up, momentarily thinking someone had broken into his apartment, but the sight of Prowl in the chair across from him, reading, reminded him of where he was.

Jazz reached over and grabbed the cube. “Mornin’, Prowler.”

“Good morning.” Prowl tapped the edge of his datapad, glancing up at Jazz briefly before returning his gaze to it. “You were very nearly in recharge by the time we came back. As a result, I did not try to get you to drink proper energon last night, so I assume your levels are relatively low.”

Jazz checked. “53%. Not th' lowest it’s ever been.” Jazz shrugged as he took a sip anyway.

Prowl looked up properly then. “I assume that was when you were at the orphanage?”

“Nah. They fed us properly there. It was afterward.”

“Your work did not feed you?”

“Only if we met quota.” Jazz shrugged. “Staniz cold-constructs most of their workers. Easier than tryin’ t’ get forged mecha or sparked ones.” He explained. “An’ in Staniz...well, there aren’t that many protections for workers as a result. Where one cold-constructed mecha is, another will do just as well.”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched in… agitation? Jazz wished he could read them and those moods properly. “That is abuse.”

Jazz shrugged again. “I know that now, but none o' th' cold-constructed mecha know any better. I didn’t either. Sparked orphans are treated a lot like cold-constructed mecha, despite our sparks comin’ into existence a little differently.”

Prowl shook his helm. “I wish Iacon could get good Enforcers into Staniz. From everything you have told me, it is not a good city. Unfortunately, from experience, they only send and take mechs like Barricade.”

“Tough, ugly, an’ willin’ t’ bend th’ rules for a ‘good mecha?’”

“Yes.”

“Pretty much th’ definition o’ Enforcers and precincts there. I can count on one hand th’ number o’ reasonably _ not _ corrupt officers I ran into back then.”

Prowl looked a little ill. “That is the most terrifying thing you have told me so far.”

Jazz chuckled, mirthlessly. “Then yer a good Enforcer. I think yer boss would say th’ same.”

Prowl’s doorwings dipped up and down. “For all I find his... _ meddling _ tiresome, at times, Orion is a good officer and mech. I am lucky to have him as my superior officer.” He admitted. “But I want to know something about you.”

“Yeah, Prowler?”

“You have mentioned that you were a dockworker, and before that in an orphanage until you aged out. How did you end up being a musician? Is form not the ultimate definition of function in Staniz?”

Jazz hummed. “Petrex a bit different, then? Ya didn’t want t’ be anythin’ else?”

“I was constructed for a purpose. While I was given a short time to explore and learn, I was expected to fulfill that function. I was built to be an Enforcer, and so that is what I am.”

Jazz leaned back. “That’s th’ difference between all o’ us, isn’t it?” He mused. “Forged mecha are obvious from th’ start, ‘cause they get t’ choose with their sparks what they are. Bein’ constructed cold, ya get what ya get. Same with bein’ sparked. Yer stuck in a cold body, an’ so neither ya nor th’ mecha in charge know what t’ do with ya.”

He shook himself a bit, and shook his helm. “But yer askin’ how I ended up a musician. Truth is, I just got sick o’ the packin’ and th’ loadin’ all orn each orn. A travelin’ musician came through, an’ I left with them, after sweet talkin’ them into givin’ m’ some lessons. They needed a stagehand, an’ I needed out. It worked for everyone involved.”

Prowl tilted his helm. “That is all?”

  
  
“Yep.” Jazz grinned, disarmingly. “Not a bit more than that.”

Jazz was, as usual, only telling half the truth. The reality was a little darker and involved a lot more favors and under-the-table dealings, but the gist was the same, and Prowl was too good of an Enforcer to let some of those things go -- even if Jazz had technically, in more ways than one, left that life behind him.

Prowl settled back as well, seemingly placated for the moment, and was about to go back to reading when Jazz used the opening, after taking another sip of energon. “That’s also when I started gettin’ interested in th’ Solstice, ya know.”

Prowl looked up, confused.

Jazz gestured vaguely to the air. “Staniz ain’t exactly known for festivities. But when ya get out t’ places like Praxus or Tyger Pax, it’s gorgeous. Lights, crystals, music. Barely realized there was a Solstice before I got out.” He tilted his helm back, glancing out the window. “Nobody puts up any decorations here.”

Not his most subtle attempts, he recognized, but… those seven orns blinking in the corner of his HUD were… distracting, to say the least. He may have prioritized Prowl’s health while he was ill, but now, it was back to business. Jazz needed to stay alive again, and if that meant being completely obvious, then that was what was going to happen.

“They do.” Prowl interrupted. “You will notice many going up starting today.”

Jazz grinned. “What about ya?”

“What about me?”

“Do you put up decorations?”

Prowl’s lips turned up, ever so slightly, as Jazz’s line of questioning registered in his processor. “I see what you are trying to do, Jazz. Knowing what you do of me, what do you think the answer to that question is?”

Jazz’s grin turned apologetic. “Sorry, Prowler. Didn’t think ya did, but ya never know.”

“I appreciate the effort, but I am still indifferent to the Solstice. Though I find myself curious now why you keep making the attempt.” Prowl still seemed amused by this, which Jazz took as a good sign.

“Just doesn’t seem right that some mecha don’t like th’ season.” Jazz deflected.

Prowl’s doorwings made that shrugging movement again. Jazz had that one pretty well recognized, at least. “I have had very little reason to care, besides the fact that there is extra pay.” Prowl looked down at his datapad, and tapped it again. “But I can see how one might start to care.”

“Really?” Jazz leaned forwards.

“If one has a spark insistent on helping others, and who wants to do nice things for mecha who likely will not appreciate it, yes.” Prowl looked up at Jazz, a proper smile on his face. A small one, but a real smile.

Jazz’s vents hitched, and he could have melted right then and there. Other than a few slips, Prowl’s face had remained just this side of stern, not cruel, but stern nonetheless. But when he smiled… Jazz felt himself smiling back.

“Did you like Praxus?” Prowl asked suddenly. 

“Huh?”

“You mentioned Praxus. I assume you went there after leaving Staniz.”

Jazz scrambled to get his processor back in order. “Uh. Yeah. I did. I liked it. Why?”

“There is a… traveling exhibit, of a sort, at the Iacon Gardens. It is a collection of Praxian crystals, specifically designed for the holiday.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched...nervously? “I was hesitant to go by myself, but if you would like to accompany me…?” Prowl trailed off. Jazz’s guess of nervous seemed accurate.

The poetry reading was one thing. That was Prowl feeling guilty. But this? This felt like a date. A proper date, to a garden… Jazz’s vents hitched again.

Yes or no? Prowl was waiting, doorwings and smile slowly drooping as time passed, and Jazz stared at him like he’d suddenly sprouted a second helm, without response.

“Why me?” He finally blurted out.

Prowl’s doorwings perked back up, ever so slightly. “You mentioned that you were moving on after the Solstice. I… have enjoyed your company.”

“Ya have?”

“Surprisingly, yes. So I would… like to spend as much time together as we can before you leave.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Prowl’s lips twitched upwards again. “So are you going to accept, or are you going to continue believing that I don’t know what I am implying?”

Jazz sputtered for a moment, Prowl’s amusement becoming more and more palpable now that he realized that Jazz wasn’t likely to say no.

“If ya really want t’, Prowler, then I’m honored. Yeah, I’ll go with ya.”

“Then does tomorrow work for you?”

Jazz quickly checked his calendar. “Yeah, I’m free after the sixteenth joor.”

“That is perfect, as the exhibit is apparently much better after dark.” Prowl replied, though slightly distracted as he pulled something up on his datapad. “In that case, meet me at the Gardens at the seventeenth joor? I will send you the address, and wait for you at the gates. We can briefly see some of the rest of the Gardens before it closes, as well.”

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

The next evening, Jazz transformed at the edge of the curb to the Gardens, already seeing Prowl waiting there. He checked himself over for any scratches or slush. He’d gotten a paint touch-up, and a shiny, but durable wax at a salon down the road from his apartment before work today. Perhaps it was a little vain, but it was stylish, and he’d been looking a bit dull. The artist had wanted to do more, but recognized Jazz’s time crunch, and had only huffed a little before accepting it and moving on.

Prowl looked Jazz up and down as he walked up. “You look very nice.” He said, dropping his optics, doorwings tilting back slightly… shy? Jazz had spent yesterday afternoon looking up a DataNet tutorial on reading Praxian doorwings. Huh. Jazz wouldn’t have pegged Prowl as the shy type, but there was an occasion for everything, he figured.

“Ya do too.” Jazz responded. It was evident that Prowl, too, had put extra effort into his polish for the evening, making Jazz feel just a little less vain. Seemed both of them wanted to look nice for the other.

Jazz very,  _ very _ pointedly did not acknowledge how that made his spark feel a bit warmer and fuzzier.

Prowl held out an arm, startling Jazz for a moment. “Shall we go in?” He asked, quietly.

Jazz took the offered arm with a tinge of blue rising to his cheeks at the gesture. Not a single one of his previous dates had ever made such a gesture, and Jazz hadn’t expected to like it so much. “Yeah. Let’s go see these gardens yer so fascinated by.” He smiled at Prowl, who returned the expression with a small smile of his own.

“I come here on occasion when I do not need fuel, but simply somewhere that separation and quietness are the norm.” Prowl glanced around at the towering metal sculptures and metallico-plants. “If you wait long enough on a bench, and are still enough, sometimes you can see a petro-rabbit or turbo-deer. The ones here are more accustomed to mecha, but will still run if they feel threatened by too much other movement.”

“Never had any o’ those in Staniz.” Jazz admitted. “Sometimes ya would get organic animals, though. Th’ spaceport brought some o’ those in, too. My personal favorites were th’ ones like mecha-cats.”

Prowl hummed. “I had a co-worker in Petrex suggest that I acquire a mecha-cat at one point. I decided against it because of the cost at the time, but perhaps I will consider it again now that I am more stable financially.”

“Ya might be less lonely with another creature around.”

“Perhaps.” Prowl didn’t disagree, and the two continued on, making their way slowly through the gardens, until it became almost dark, at which point they made their way over to the traveling crystal garden.

Jazz’s vents caught as they walked in, and he twisted his neck to look up at the archway they had just walked through. “It’s gorgeous, Prowler.”

“It is.” Prowl agreed as he spread his doorwings a bit to take in the sensory information. “They are humming.”

“Really?” Jazz concentrated. “I can’t hear it.”

“Can you tune your audials at all?”

Jazz checked his systems briefly, to see if that command was there. It was. “Yeah. How’d ya know?”

“You are a musician. Most can naturally, or have an upgrade to do so.”

“Good point. Why?”

“If you can manage it, try to get two frequency recognitions of…” Prowl tilted his helm. “Around 20 to 35 kilohertz for the upper one and 0 to 300 hertz for the lower.”

“Primus, Prowler. Are ya trying t’ blow m’ audials out?” Jazz snickered, but ran the command to retune his audials to the double frequency.

Prowl chuckled, something that Jazz almost missed with how distracted he was. “Hardly. I think you will find it pleasant, in fact.”

Jazz smirked as he ran the commands… and then gasped as he looked around again.

“Prowler.” He breathed, stepping forward to the nearest crystal and tilting his helm toward it. “They’re singing.”

Prowl nodded, stepping up next to Jazz, pinging his personal comms, a system that would be unaffected by Jazz’s specially-tuned hearing. ::This one is merely a small sampling, specifically chosen for their harmony on those levels. If you ever find yourself in Praxus again, the Singing Gardens are quite large, and all of the crystals have their own unique frequencies.::

Jazz glanced around, seeing other mecha there. ::Can they hear it?::

Prowl shook his helm. ::Most cannot. The Seekers over there, by the blue formation, likely can, with their wings. Unless the others are musicians, then no. But they are lovely regardless.::

::They are.:: Jazz straightened back up. ::Let’s keep looking around.::

The two wandered the garden slowly, taking in each crystal formation and sculpture. Jazz found it fascinating how some formations played off each other, making different tones together than they seemed to on their own, and how some sculptures focused their sound, directing it purposefully toward another, or acting as conduits with very little sound of their own.

It was growing late by the time they made their way back to near the front of the exhibit. The stars were bright, even with the lights underneath the crystals casting mirages and scattered flecks of colored light all over the garden and both of Cybertron’s moons being nearly full.

Jazz leaned on a railing, looking out at a small field of crystals, all in their first stages of growth, and with significantly more normal pitches as a result. ::This was wonderful, Prowler.:: He smiled, looking over at Prowl.

Prowl leaned on the railing next to him, doorwings moving gently. Totally relaxed. ::I am glad. I have enjoyed it as well.::

::It’s too bad we can’t stay here.::

::Unfortunately, that would be illegal.:: Prowl’s lips twitched. ::But we can remain for a few more minutes.::

::Alright.:: Jazz returned his gaze to the crystals, sighing slightly as he returned his hearing to normal ranges. “We should go, then.”

Prowl nodded, and turned to go, albeit slightly reluctantly, before something caught his optic and he bent over to look at a particular crystal, near the path. “Look at this, Jazz.”

“Hmm?” Jazz looked, but couldn’t spot what Prowl was seeing.

“No, right... _ there _ .” Prowl breathed in Jazz’s audial, making him shiver as he guided Jazz’s vision with a finger.

“Oh.” Jazz’s optics locked onto it.

It was a small crystal snake, winding its way through the few crystals near the path. It was paying them no mind as it went on its way, looking for small chips of crystal to eat. It was an iridescent purple, which is why Jazz hadn’t spotted it at first, having blended right into the crystals. He wondered briefly how Prowl had managed to, but then chalked it up to the tac center.

Guess it had other uses besides crime-solving.

“It’s beautiful, Prowler.”

“It was likely in an egg in one of the crystals that was brought over.” Prowl whispered, still in Jazz’s audial.

“Will it be okay?”

“Crystal snakes are highly intelligent. When the exhibit is packed up, it will find its way into one of the larger crystals to move with it.”

“‘M glad. Would be terrible for it t’ die just ‘cause it got unlucky.”

“Indeed.” Prowl stood back up slowly as the snake wound further from the path. Jazz followed, then stopped, realizing how close he and Prowl were. Prowl’s wings fluttered. “It would be especially unfortunate, as they say that seeing a crystal snake is good luck.” His voice was still soft.

“Good luck for what?” Jazz whispered, trapped in Prowl’s optics, even bluer in this multi-colored light than normal.

Prowl’s lips twitched. “It’s just good luck.” Prowl said, a hand coming up to Jazz’s face. “But I think I want to use mine now.”

“How so?” Jazz leaned in just a little, not enough to make them touch, but so, so close…

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Jazz breathed, and then Prowl’s lips were on his own, soft and perfect and warmer than Jazz expected, as his arms moved to around Prowl’s neck, and Prowl’s other hand moved to his hip…

And then Jazz broke away, optics wide as he realized what he’d done. “I…” He stuttered. “‘M sorry, Prowler. I… I can’t.” Jazz tore himself away, running from the garden as fast as he could, leaving Prowl standing there, doorwings lower than Jazz would have ever seen them before, a spark-stricken look on his face.

But Jazz saw none of that, as he ran for the curb, transformed, and rushed off into the night.

His timer ticked slowly over to five orns.


	6. Chapter 6

Jazz sped away from the Gardens, only stopping when he reached Blurr’s. That’s what he needed right now: engex and mechs who weren’t Prowl.

Jazz swaggered in, ordered the strongest engex he could. If he could get well and truly star-sabered, maybe he’d be able to forget that kiss. Warm, soft… 

And completely and utterly inappropriate and wrong and idiotic and _wonderful_.

Stupid, stupid mech, Jazz thought as he downed one shot after another. 

And when sleazy mechs wanted a dance, well, that was just fine with Jazz.

Blaster, the nighttime DJ at Blurr’s, finally cornered Jazz just as it started to get light out.

“Blurr’s may be a twenty-four joor club, but you’re not a twenty-four joor mech.” Blaster slid into the booth next to Jazz and laid a hand on his shoulder. Jazz was slumping in his seat with multiple empty cubes in front of him. “I don’t know what your problem is, but this ain’t you. Go get real energon and recharge. I’ll be here in the afternoon if you need to actually talk about it.”

“Don’t wanna.” Jazz slurred.

“I will call the Enforcers, and you’ve mentioned you have bad history with them.” Blaster warned.

“Nah, no Enforcers. Don’t wanna see Prowl.” Jazz mumbled.

Blaster made an “ah” sound. “That the one you’ve been on about the past couple weekends?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Jazz groaned. “Kissed me.”

“Did you want that?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Can’t. Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Yer not my therapist.” Jazz snapped, before grimacing. 

Blaster shrugged. “Nah. But I would consider you a friend, and friends take friends to their home when they’re drunk.” He slung one of Jazz’s arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Jazz, already on his way to passing out again, didn’t complain.

In fact, when he finally woke up later that afternoon, he couldn’t remember much beyond Blaster helping him into his berth. On the table next to him was a cube of energon, a tablet of iodine, and a note: Call Prowl when you wake up. -- Blaster

Jazz grimaced and shook his helm, immediately wincing. Like pits _that_ was going to happen. He took the iodine tablet and swallowed two or three sips of energon before his tanks started to protest and he laid down again, whimpering.

* * *

It was the next orn when he woke up to his doorbell ringing and his HUD informing him that his tanks were at 42%.

And, of course, that he had four orns left before the Solstice.

Tanks less queasy, he stumbled to his door, only to see the mech himself there, doorwings twitching in agitation.

“May I come in?” Prowl asked, quietly.

Jazz stepped aside, gesturing vaguely. “Whatever.”

Prowl stopped in the middle of the living space and glanced around. “You still haven’t changed anything.”

“No.”

“So you’re still planning to move on?”

“Havta.”

“Is that why you ran away?” Prowl’s doorwings quivered.

“Prowler…”

“Don’t ‘Prowler’ me right now.” Prowl’s doorwings flared out. “You _left_ me.”

“Yeah, I did. So?”

“ _So?_ You led me to believe that you desired whatever it was that we were discovering as much as I do. But then you ran away, and I got a message from one of your friends that you had gone and gotten thoroughly drunk.” Prowl stepped closer to Jazz. “They told me to give you an orn to get sober, and then come talk to you if you hadn’t commed.”

Jazz snarled. “Blaster shoul’ mind his own business.”

“I’m glad he didn’t. You know what could have happened otherwise? You could have been killed, or gotten into a traffic accident--”

“So what?” Jazz shouted. “Yer just a drone who can’t be bothered t’ care about th’ Solstice or anyone but yourself!”

Prowl was silent, his doorwings drooping, stilling as his optics dropped from Jazz’s

Jazz realized what he had said. “‘M sorry, Prowle… Prowl. I didn’t mean tha…”

“Yes, you did.” Prowl said, quietly. “And no. I’m the one who’s sorry. I allowed myself to think there was something that wasn’t there. I’ll see myself out.” He hurried toward the door, leaving Jazz in the middle of his living room, frozen. Jazz heard the door open, close, and the sound of an engine roaring away.

He collapsed onto the floor, curling into himself, optic fluid slipping from beneath his visor.

He’d fragged up. He had so royally fragged up that he was fairly certain that Primus would choose to just toss his spark into the abyss of space and be done with him.

He laid there for a few joor, and then forced himself to keep from comming Prowl for another two. Best to let Prowler have his own emotional breakdown if necessary, rather than looking desperate.

And Jazz was desperate. He sat up, still curled into himself.

He hadn’t cared about anyone in a very, very long time. He’d told Prowl about being dumped at an open mic -- that was true -- but he hadn’t told him about the long string of lovers that had all left him, or that he had been forced to leave to keep them alive when he got a little too attached. Such were the favors that sometimes got called in. He wasn’t a clean mech by any means. Every spark he’d extinguished was carved into his own. Why on Cybertron Primus had decided he was fit to be a Winter Spark, he had no clue. They had always seemed so regal, so pure and generous and giving…

And maybe that was their atonement, Jazz realized with sudden clarity and horror. The reason why Winter Sparks were so rare now was that they needed a mech who had offlined with regret and evil in his life, but wanted to do better. He buried his helm in his knees. Prowl would never forgive him. He wouldn’t be a Winter Spark. He was just going to have regret for all eternity.

What a terrible way to go. Jazz’s intake felt swollen, and he huffed a half-laugh. Jazz of Staniz, reduced to a pile of crying mech because of a _crush_.

But Jazz didn’t like to accept defeat, even when it was inevitable. He brought up Prowl’s number -- one of the exact four that he had -- and pinged it.

Once. Twice. Three times.

A mechanical voice spoke. “This number has been blocked. Please try again later.”

Jazz hung up. So that was how it was going to be.

Never mind then.

* * *

For the next three orns, Jazz ignored the steady stream of pings from Blaster, asking how he was.

He even ignored the one from Orion that just consisted of a frowny face. He didn’t want to know where Orion had got his number from. At least he’d be dead in a couple orns, and wouldn’t have to face being dragged out to some quickmetal pit and summarily executed by the mech while a vengeful Prowl looked on.

Finally, his timer said he had less than six joors left before the Solstice. Ah. So it was giving him until midnight on Solstice Eve. Jazz scoffed. What a load of slag. Until the Solstice, his aft. Maybe Primus was taking mercy on him, getting him out of here an orn early.

He started packing up the few things that he had scattered around the apartment. Might as well clean it up for the next mecha. He tossed it all into his subspace, but hesitated when he saw the little motion machine on his berthside table.

Making a split-second decision, Jazz found a small box and a marker, and, packing up the machine with the utmost care, wrote “For Prowler -- I’m sorry” on the top, before tucking it into his subspace.

Turning off the lights and locking his door, Jazz hurried down to the curb and transformed.

At least he still remembered where Prowl lived.

Now, with half a joor on his timer, Jazz shivered as he looked up at Prowl’s window, standing there on the doorstep. He could see the mech moving around in his apartment. All he had to do was push the doorbell. But he stayed on the other side of the street for the moment.

Jazz dashed away the optical fluid that was slipping from beneath his visor. Slag. It was too cold out here. Taking the small package from his subspace, he quickly crossed the street, bent down, set it on the doorstep, and, pushing the doorbell, turned and ran away from Prowl’s building. Once he felt that he was far enough away, Jazz started walking toward the docks. If his frame dropped out there, or if his stuff got left behind, well, at least Prowl would have an idea of what happened. Probably the worst thing Jazz could do to make Prowl like the Solstice, but hey, it wasn’t like he’d succeeded anyway. Prowl still thought the Solstice was overrated, didn’t “change his ways,” whatever _that_ slag had meant. And, Jazz admitted to himself, he hadn’t done much to encourage it, in the end.

Jazz huffed as he walked a little faster.

Stupid mech. Stupid, irritating, _gorgeous_ mech.

The sound of an engine didn’t bother him, until the sound of a t-cog made him glance behind him, only to be suddenly knocked over by someone else.

Jazz landed on his back in the snow, blinking as he looked up into Prowl’s face. 

Prowl’s doorwings were twitching, and he, too, was shivering. Still, he made no move to get off of Jazz, seemingly stuck looking into his visor. Jazz stilled, suddenly unwilling to make the Praxian move.

“I saw you running away.” Prowl said, quietly. “You didn’t come in.”

“Didn’t want t’ disturb ya.” Jazz mumbled. “Just takin’ a walk.”

A moment’s pause.

“You’re leaving.” Prowl said, a statement rather than a question. "You left me this." He wiggled a hand free and pulled out the box. "Why?"

“Ya seemed t' like it, at least a little." Jazz responded quietly. "Consider it a Solstice present. An' yeah, 'M leavin'. Have ta.”

“Why?" Prowl asked. "I looked into your records.” Prowl put the box back into his subspace, and, reaching down, manually retracted Jazz’s visor. Jazz blinked, his exposed blue optics looking into Prowl's. “Jazz of Staniz deactivated in a traffic accident one month ago.”

Jazz hesitated. “And ya think I’m the same mech?” Had Orion told him?

“All the best names are taken.” Prowl chuckled, a low, rich tone, though his doorwings drooped. “I am sorry for our fight. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.” Prowl’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper at the end.

Jazz shook his helm. “Prowler, if anyone should be apologizin’, it’s me. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Prowl’s hand moved to cup Jazz’s face as he looked into his optics. “It took me a few orns, but... I forgive you.”

“Ya shouldn’t. M’ records don’t tell most o’ th’ story. Yer one o’ th’ kindest, sweetest mechs I’ve ever met, even if ya aren’t into th’ Solstice, an’ I can’t corrupt that. Blockin' m' number was probably th' best decision o' yer functioning.” 

Prowl’s hand didn’t move. “Shouldn’t that be up to me to decide?" His gaze softened. "I wish you would tell me who you really are.”

“Can’t, Prowler. I wish things coulda been different." Jazz started to wiggle. "Let me go.”

Prowl didn’t reply, his hand moving to trace Jazz’s face.

“Prowler?” Jazz asked, stilling, confused.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“I…I really am sorry, Prowler, but I don’t think ‘M allowed t’ say why ‘M here.” Jazz responded, as the first toll of the old bell down at the wharf started. “But Prowler.” Jazz spoke quickly, slapping a hand over Prowl’s mouth when he tried to speak. “Please stop hatin’ th’ Solstice. Do it for me, Prowler, please?” His voice broke into static as the ninth bell tolled. “An’ one more thing…” Jazz swallowed. “I love ya. I really do.”

_Bong_. The twelfth bell tolled, and Jazz felt a tug at his spark, his frame feeling heavy, too... too heavy. Prowl was saying something, frantically, but he couldn’t make out the words as his helm dropped back and his sight began to dim.

* * *

::My Child.::

Jazz groaned as he felt his frame melt away from his spark, phantom limbs rapidly disappearing. “Guess ‘M back here, then?”

::Yes.::

“Probably didn’t succeed, did I?” Jazz already knew the answer.

::No.:: Primus sounded genuinely disappointed, and Jazz felt as though he was being drawn into his orphanage matron’s lap again, being stroked on the helm like a newspark. ::I should have known that this would happen.::

“What?”

::I fear that I, even with all my wisdom and experience, often underestimate the sparks of mechs and femmes that I give life to.:: 

A sigh. 

::Do you wish to see him?::

“Prowler?” Jazz’s spark dimmed. “I hurt him.” He responded, quietly. “I really, really hurt him.”

::Yes.::

Then images appeared in Jazz’s spark. Prowl, clinging to Jazz’s slowly greying frame, whispering against his cold face.

“Jazz. Come back. Don’t go. Please.” Prowl sounded broken, his doorwings drooping, dragging in the snow that was now falling faster and freer than it had been. There were sirens in the distance. “Please. Please.” Optical fluid was flowing down his face, and Jazz tried to reach out, only to remember that he wasn’t there.

“Let me go back.” Jazz begged, gaze caught on those doorwings. Flicking up, out, down. They were moving too fast for him to read.

Primus sighed again, cuddling Jazz a little closer. ::I wish I could break my own rules. But Prowl will join you someday.::

“I don’t care. Give m' one more orn.” Jazz argued. “You said _until the Solstice_ . The Solstice ain’t over, m’mech. Technically, th’ _proper_ solstice doesn’t occur until th’ day after today, at about th’ sixth joor. I can go on. Ya left m’ with a mech who can argue, an’ I’m a fighter. Always have been, always will be. Believe m’, I will stay here, right here, an’ argue with ya until th’ end o’ time if I havta.”

Primus chuckled. ::Prowl has been rubbing off on you.:: He paused. ::This is rather unorthodox.::

“So’s promisin’ t’ make m’ a Winter Spark.” Jazz would have crossed his arms if he could. “Am I right in assuming that they’re mecha who wanted t’ atone?”

::Yes::

“Then I want a new deal.”

::Really?:: Primus asked, amused.

“Put me back in tha’ frame until the proper Solstice. Prowler deserves a better goodbye, at least. But I realized what I was missing.”

::And what was that?::

“Love.” Jazz responded. “I love Prowler, an’ that seems like a pretty good job t’ m’. If ya really want m’ t’ atone, let m’ go atone by actually lovin’ another mech for awhile. So yer gonna put m’ back in that frame, an’ I’m gonna atone by givin’ Prowler th’ best Solstice ever, because _‘M_ there.”

::Is that all?::

Jazz smirked. “Yeah.” He thought of something else. “An’ if I succeed in our original terms, if Prowler agrees t’ change his ways, t’ stop only putting work first an’ accept a little bit o’ love, I get t’ spend a full life with him. I already have th’ frame. Ya already said ya don’t usually send mechs back, but that means _ya sometimes do_.”

::You are correct. But are you sure you wish to live another long, weary existence, full of pain? You could stay here, warm, one with all, until Prowl’s time comes.::

“‘M sure.” Jazz was firm. “Ya don’t get it, I don’t think. I like bein’ functional. Yeah, there’s physical pain, an’ emotional pain, an’ sparkache, which is the worst kind, but that’s _functioning_. An’ for every single one o’ those, there’s pleasure, an’ joy, an’ th’ flittery feelin’ in yer spark tha’ doesn’t have a name, an’ I feel every one o’ those when I look at Prowler, so yeah. I want t’ function again, pain an’ all.”

Primus was silent for a long time. Jazz’s frame had greyed a little more.

::You are a strong spark, My Child.:: Again, the caresses. ::I will agree to your terms. I am sometimes a very foolish spark myself. Perhaps someday I will understand those I give life to.:: Primus sounded regretful, but determined. ::Perhaps you will become a Winter Spark yet.::

“Not for a long time, m’mech.” Jazz responded, giddy. Had he really succeeded?

::No.:: Amusement came back. ::Go now, with My blessing.::

* * *

Returning to his frame was no less unpleasant now than it had been the first time.

Jazz’s body sat straight up as he gripped his chest plating, venting heavily. Prowl started back at the sudden movement, falling back into the snow himself. Jazz didn’t hesitate to grab him, pulling him back up. Both ignored the snow piling up around them, as they sat there, both venting heavily, Jazz recovering, Prowl staring in disbelief.

“You’re alive.” Prowl reached out, poking Jazz in the chest.

“For now.” Jazz responded, optics snapping to Prowl’s. “I’ve got until th’ true Solstice.”

“What?” Prowl’s brow furrowed. “You are not making any sense.”

“Might never make sense again, Prowler.” Jazz grinned easily, his attitude coming back. Then his smile faded. “About what I --” Jazz didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Prowl suddenly surged forward, pressing his lips to Jazz’s again.

It was no less perfect the second time around, and this time, Jazz didn’t hesitate to pull Prowl in closer, despite the snow and the cold that was biting into his frame again. The two stayed like that, clinging to each other like they’d never have another chance to touch.

Finally, they separated, venting, and Prowl moved one servo to trace Jazz’s face.

“What happened?” He asked. “You were gone, Jazz.”

“I was.” Jazz hung his helm, before Prowl tipped it back up.

“If you really wanted me to love the Solstice, dying is possibly the worst idea you could have had.” Prowl’s optics weren’t quite dry, but crying was an emotion he wasn’t going to show, even as he tried to keep his voice even, only for it to break at the end. “I love you too. If you meant it.”

Jazz leaned forwards, pecking Prowl on the lips again. “Dyin’ didn’t change anythin’ ‘bout how I feel. Primus knows I didn’t intend t’ fall in love, but hey, who would?” 

Prowl laughed thinly, pressing his chevron to Jazz’s forehelm. “Indeed. Come back to my apartment. We need to get dry before we risk a rust infection.”

“Hate to do that to this frame.” Jazz agreed, standing and pulling Prowl with him. “Kinda started to like it.”

“About that.” Prowl frowned as they started walking. “You deactivated. The autopsy was definitive.”

Jazz hesitated. “So about that… I don’t think ya’d believe m’ if I said. But yeah. I died. Came back in a new frame.”

“To find me.” Prowl’s wings twitched. “And, what, convince me to like the Solstice?”

Jazz didn’t answer, and Prowl continued.

“So whoever sent you made sure you’d deactivate on the Solstice if you didn’t succeed.” He surmised. “But you came back, so either you talked your way out of it, or something didn’t work.” Prowl narrowed his optics at Jazz. “You’re not saying anything.”

“You won’t believe me, Prowler.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true.”

They were back at Prowl’s apartment, and as they stepped inside, Prowl pushed Jazz up against the wall.

Jazz grinned easily, even as his spark twisted. “Not that I’m not up for it, Prowler, but --”

“Who sent you?” Prowl’s voice was dark.

“What?”

“Who?”

“Prowler…”

“ _Who_?” Prowl shoved a little harder, and Jazz offlined his visor.

“Primus! Primus did!” He shouted, Prowl’s grip immediately loosening.

Jazz turned his visor back on, only to see Prowl’s wings and frame stiff, his optics glassy. 

Both Prowl's stated signs of an impending crash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter now has [fanart](https://schiste-argileux.tumblr.com/post/189986861442/jazz-come-back-dont-go-please-prowl) on tumblr, courtesy of Korlansan. Thank you so much! ^^


	7. Chapter 7

“Prowler? Prowler, listen to me. I need you to focus on my voice.” Jazz tried very hard to remain calm. If Prowl crashed now, everything would be for naught. “Prowler, I need you to come back. It’s fine. Where’s the loop?” Jazz didn’t touch him, kept his voice level, quiet, as he tried to coax Prowl’s processor out of the loop that it had seemingly gotten itself stuck in. After Prowl had mentioned this, Jazz had looked up how to help mecha who crashed. He thought he was doing everything right, but if Prowl didn’t come out of it soon…

He kept talking quietly, as minutes ticked by and he waited, vents stilled, for Prowl to either fully crash or solve the error.

Then Prowl’s wings started to move, slowly, and his optics refocused. Jazz let out a sigh of relief.

“Ya with me now, Prowler?”

Prowl didn’t reply immediately, but his lips started moving, though no sound came out for the first few moments.

“..say Primus?” Sound came back to Prowl’s voiceless words.

Jazz vented again and nodded, leaning back against the wall, suddenly very tired. “Ya probably want a proper explanation, don’t ya?”

“That would be appreciated. But first, I need energon, and so do you.” Prowl vented lightly and headed to the kitchen, quickly mixing up their preferred energons and handing Jazz’s to him. Jazz sat on a stool, whole Prowl stood, his doorwings flickering every so often as he drank, only speaking again when it was empty.

“Very well. I want you to start, from the beginning, and don’t leave out ‘unimportant’ details.” Prowl said, setting his cube deliberately in the sink.

Jazz couldn’t help it. “So, once, vorns and vorns ago, two mecha loved each other very much…”

“Jazz.” Prowl’s lips twitched in spite of the situation.

Jazz chuckled, but fell silent. “So ‘M sure ya know I offlined in Kaon.”

“Yes. That much was in the records.”

  
  
“I was there t’ kill someone.” Jazz said, bluntly.

Prowl’s wings twitched. “Go on.”

“I didn’t. But I killed a lot o’ other mecha. None o’ them were very _ nice _ \-- mob an’ all that -- but I’m not just some punk with a street record.” Jazz’s voice was quiet. “It was how I got out o’ Staniz. I thought Polychrome was just a musician. Turns out he was essentially a traveling mob front.”

“And you traveled with him.”

Jazz nodded, looking down at his pedes. “Ya know, it doesn’t seem like a bad trade-off at first. Ya rough up that mech, pickpocket that one, tell that one they owe shanix or else...”

“Then they make you kill someone.” Prowl’s voice was equally quiet. “I know a few former undercover mecha who had to jump through hoops to avoid taking that step.” He stepped around Jazz and tentatively wrapped his arms around his shoulders from behind. “If you do not want to talk about that, we do not have to right now.”

Jazz took a deep vent in. “Appreciate it, Prowler, but it’s important. I regret every one of those. Ya know how Winter Sparks never told anyone where they came from, an’ ya thought they were a manifestation o’ Primus’s will or somethin’ like that?”

“I recall. That is why I crashed.”

“Havin’ yer belief suddenly proven made ya crash?”

Prowl’s doorwings made the shrugging movement. “It is a rather big logical step between believing something because it makes hypothetical sense and having proof standing right in front of you.”

“Well… try not t’ do that again?”

“I will attempt not to.” Prowl lips twitched again. “It is not pleasant for me either, if you hadn’t guessed. Please continue.”

Jazz smiled a little, but his face fell again. “‘M pretty sure my accident in Kaon was truly an accident, but basically, Winter Sparks come from mecha who want t’ atone for their awful lives with love an’ giving.”

Prowl hummed. “And you are one of those.”

Jazz nodded.

“Then, extrapolating from what you have already told me -- and, please, stop me if I am wrong -- when you died, Primus gave you a task relating to me. If you could make me, a known work-a-holic and stick-in-the-aft --” Jazz made a protesting noise, but Prowl held up a hand. “I acknowledge that I am too professional for most mecha to tolerate. It is less...personal when it is applied in that context.” His wings twitched a little. “But if you could make me love the Solstice, then you would prove that you were worthy of this atonement.”

Jazz nodded again. “Just about.” With Prowl aware of the stakes, his humor was coming back. “If I succeeded, I got t’ be a new Winter Spark, an’ work until I forgave myself. If I didn’t, then I just got t’ be part of th’ till all are one bit. But I still would have had regret.”

Prowl made a thoughtful noise. “So how did you talk your way back to me?” Prowl’s voice softened.

“Told Primus where he could shove it.” Jazz leaned back and smirked up at Prowl, who looked scandalized.

“I would recommend that you not let the Captain hear you say that.”

Jazz groaned. “Yer Captain is going to murder me.”

“I highly doubt that.” Prowl’s face broke out into a real, true smile. “He may threaten, but when he sees that I am happy, he will back off.”

Jazz blinked at Prowl. “About that…”

“You are still on a timer. I am aware. So, tell me the truth. I assume a new deal was made.”

“I get until th’ scientific Solstice, not th’ celebrated one.”

Prowl thought for a moment. “So approximately thirty joor from now?”

Jazz dared a look at his timer. “Yeah.”

“And what were the terms of this deal?”

Jazz hesitated, looking down, and Prowl tilted Jazz’s helm back to look into his optics.

“Jazz. We have reached this point because of our failure to communicate at all. Please.”

“I…” Jazz swallowed. “I told him that I loved ya, an’ that if he really wanted m’ t’ atone, he’d give me this day t’ spend with ya, givin’ ya the best Solstice ya’d ever have.”

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered, and he turned Jazz’s stool around so that Jazz was facing him. “I think I want to kiss you again.”

“Ya don’t need t’ ask, Prowler.”

Prowl bent down, but kept it short and sweet, pressing his chevron to Jazz’s forehelm when he broke away, resting his hands on Jazz’s legs. “I assume you have a plan.”

Jazz grinned at him then, before pecking him on the lips. “Hardly. But we’re gonna wing it in style.” Jazz waggled his optic ridges at Prowl.

“You are possibly going to die in thirty joor. You are incorrigible.”

“Already did it twice. Can’t be too bad the third time.” Jazz joked, before standing up, Prowl’s hands dropping away from him. “But right now, I think we both need recharge. It’s almost the first joor.”

Jazz started to head toward the door, when Prowl stopped him.

“Prowler?”

“Stay.” He said, doorwings quivering. “If we only have thirty joor left, I don’t want to spend any of it apart.”

Jazz hesitated, then nodded. Prowl gently took his hand and led him toward the berthroom. Jazz had, of course, been in here when Prowl was sick, but hadn’t taken the time to look around, or sit on the berth, which molded to his form in an incredibly comfortable way. Of course, it would need to to support Prowl’s doorwings, he realized. Jazz smiled when Prowl pulled out the motion machine and set it on his berthside table, setting it in motion before he settled on his back, pulling Jazz on top of him, wrapping his arms around him before closing his optics.

“When do you wish to wake up?” Prowl asked, quietly.

“Tenth joor or so?” Jazz responded. Prowl nodded.

“I have set an internal alarm. Recharge now.” He opened his optics long enough to give Jazz a peck on the cheek and a smile, before quickly dropping off.

Jazz remained awake for a while longer, simply watching Prowl’s face as he recharged. It smoothed out a good deal, became even less stern, more like when he smiled. Jazz decided he liked it very much as he closed his own optics and fell into recharge.

* * *

Accordingly, at the tenth joor, Prowl woke Jazz up, who initially froze at the feeling of another mech under him, before remembering where he was and who he was with.

Jazz blinked at Prowl, processor slowly realigning, who smiled ever so slightly.

“Are you ready now to spend the Solstice together?”

“I forgot somethin’.” Jazz admitted, propping himself up a bit on his elbows. Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Don’t ya have t’ go into work?”

Prowl made a disbelieving sound, and it took Jazz a moment to realize that it had come from  _ Prowl _ . “You truly believed that after everything that happened earlier this morning, that I would not have already left the captain a message that I would require personal time off today to spend the Solstice with my lover?”

Jazz felt the flittery feeling in his spark. “Lover?”

Prowl looked unrepentant. “Perhaps I was a little hasty.”

“If I survive th’ next twenty-four joor, Prowler, ya can call me whatever ya want.” Jazz traced Prowl’s chevron, making the other mech tremble. “I’d say we can fix that right now, but…” Jazz swallowed as he memorized the angles of Prowl’s face. “I’m usually a one-night-stand mech. Have been, anyway, an’ I don’t want this t’ feel like that for ya.” He whispered, before softly kissing Prowl. “An’ that means I should probably get up now.” Jazz slid off of Prowl, who sat up once Jazz was no longer on top of him. 

Jazz shook himself a little, settling his plating. “So what did yer boss have t’ say about ya taking personal time for m’?” Jazz wiggled his hips, making Prowl snort.

“He returned my message a little after the eighth joor, telling me that if we’d made up he was more than happy to make Barricade cover the shift, since he would probably just go drink otherwise.” Prowl’s wings twitched. “I must admit to a certain level of pleasure with this arrangement. He did say to tell you that you are not off the hook for being, and I quote, ‘a right aft to Prowl.’”

Jazz grinned at Prowl. “Believe m’, ya won’t have a ‘certain level’ when ‘M done with ya. It’s gonna be yer best Solstice ever. An’ I expected t’ be executed, so I’ll take a tellin’ off.”

“That would cost him his job, and I doubt he is willing to take that step. As for ‘the best Solstice ever,’ that is a relatively low bar, seeing as how I have never done anything besides work.” Prowl came over and wrapped his arms around Jazz from behind. “Should we refuel here, or do you have an idea?”

“Refuel here. There’s nothing healthy on th’ Solstice when yer out an’ explorin’.” Jazz said with a grin.

Prowl shook his helm. “Perhaps it is better that I have always worked. I am not sure I would have survived a ‘proper Solstice.’

* * *

Jazz half-dragged Prowl out of his apartment, bouncing along as he thought about all the things they could do. While Prowl had refueled, and insisted on at least a short wash, Jazz had looked up Iacon’s Solstice celebrations. More window shopping in the temporary booths down the main streets, ice-skating in the city center, fireworks over the main skyscrapers… So much, and so little time.

So everything it was. Prowl had just smiled, making Jazz’s spark flutter as he dragged him out the door.

The two transformed at the curb, and Jazz tried to tempt Prowl into racing with him.

Alas, Prowl’s good sense kept him from taking the bait, so Jazz slowed down to a reasonable speed, making Prowl bump him lightly with a tire at the next stoplight.

::We can go to a racetrack sometime and see who is faster,  _ legally _ .:: Prowl commed him, amused.

::We’ll make a plan for it.:: Jazz replied, glad he didn’t have to hide his pained expression.

Was this really going to be worth it?

Yes. Yes it would be. One orn. One, perfect orn, if Jazz could just ignore that timer for a few joor.

It was surprisingly easy to do, once they arrived at the city center and he focused on Prowl. Prowl was looking around at everything, spreading his doorwings, taking it the sensory information. Jazz allowed him a moment, before holding out his arm like Prowl had done at the Gardens, making Prowl’s doorwings flutter as he took it.

“It’s m’ turn t’ take ya on a date.” Jazz said as he led the way into the street market. “Let’s see what Iacon has t’ offer.”

* * *

The two spent joors just wandering, with a soft snowfall starting about noon, and continuing until after nightfall. While Jazz had gotten them there, it ended up being Prowl leading the way, treating everything with the curiosity of a sparkling or newframe at their first Solstice.

In a way, Jazz supposed, it was for Prowl. Even for Jazz, who loved this time of year, something about Prowl’s curiosity made this all new. Jazz had never really spent the Solstice with anyone who cared for him and wanted this just as much as he did, even if he thought Prowl might be making more of an effort just for him.

It felt… nice.

They looked through all the stalls, watched the street performers, ice-skated -- Prowl was, surprisingly, much better at it than Jazz (apparently not all skills had transferred to this new frame) -- and, as it started to reach midnight, they got warm spiced energon and headed up the big hill with a inexpensive snow-proof tarp to watch the fireworks with the main city skyline in the background. Jazz had heard another customer mention it at one, specific shop that he had ducked into, telling Prowl he’d meet him by the fountain for ice-skating. 

This shop sold jewelry, and, most importantly, bonding pins. They’d walked by it earlier in the orn, and even Prowl had paused briefly to look at the display, which was almost entirely white, with the bonding pins specks of color in a winter Solstice landscape. Jazz, a master of seeing where mecha were directing their optics, had seen Prowl’s go to a pale blue one that almost exactly matched Jazz’s optics.

So, after just a very little thought and much impulsiveness, Jazz had promised to be right back, and had run back to the shop in the hopes that it would still be there.

It was, and the owner had immediately smiled when he realized that the color was a match, and Jazz’s honest smile when he asked if tonight was the night.

If only tonight wasn’t the only night.

But now, they were sitting under a twisted metal tree, sipping on their spiced energon and waiting for the fireworks to start. 

Bright splashes and crackles of color across the night sky, moons full, just rising -- the Solstice was at moonset this season -- and stars blazing, it was as perfect a night as a Solstice got, with the only clouds low on the horizon, promising a clear orn tomorrow.

Right now, curled into Prowl, watching the celebratory fireworks, Jazz thought that if today was the last orn he ever had, he couldn’t have wished for a better one.

* * *

Two joor later, the fireworks ended, and the two slowly made their way back to Prowl’s apartment. Prowl shivered slightly as they entered his apartment again, venting in relief as the warm air hit his plating and melted the frost that had accumulated during the fireworks. Jazz was warmer, but then, he had a higher heat output.

He looked at his timer. 

“I have ‘bout four joor left. Probably.” Jazz said, quietly.

“I do not need to recharge.” Prowl squeezed Jazz’s hand. “I would rather spend this time with you, no matter the outcome.”

“What do ya want t’ do?” Jazz asked, taking Prowl’s other hand. “If I do only have four joor, I don’t want t’ leave ya with regret.”

Prowl leaned forward, brushing his lips against Jazz’s. “At this point, the only thing I will regret is not spending more time with you.”

Jazz leaned in, wrapping his arms around Prowl, hiding his sappy smile in Prowl’s shoulder. “Energon an’ cuddle on th’ couch? Watch a holovid?”

“If that is what you would like to do.” Prowl detached himself from Jazz. “Go pick whatever you would like to watch.”

Jazz wandered into the living room, then, after randomly picking a holovid -- it was a favorite of both his and Prowl’s -- and making sure Prowl wasn’t in sight, pulled out the bonding pin.

Did he propose now, possibly breaking Prowl’s spark further if Primus didn’t decide it was enough, or did he, showing Prowl that he meant everything, and wanted more time together?

  
  
“Th’ only thing I will regret is not spending more time with ya.” Jazz murmured to himself, staring at the pin in its box. “Ya sure ya won’t get sick o’ m’, Prowler?”

“I don’t believe I could.” Prowl responded, right behind Jazz. Jazz yelped and shoved the pin behind him, making Prowl raise an optic ridge, before continuing. “How could I ‘get sick’ of your smile, and the way you light up a room when you walk into it, and how much of your spark you pour into your music?” Prowl set down the cubes and came to sit next to Jazz, reaching out for his visible hand. “I would be far more concerned with you not wishing to spend more time with me.”

Jazz felt optical fluid gathering. “I never knew ya were such a sap, Prowler.” He joked, weakly.

Prowl’s doorwings fluttered. “I did not know I could be either. Perhaps it is your influence that has made me so. Or maybe it was just today, which I enjoyed more than I care to admit.” He lifted his free hand to wipe away the single tear that slipped from beneath Jazz’s visor. “You do not wish to watch a holovid.”

“I do. I…” Jazz swallowed, resetting his vocalizer. “I just have a question t’ ask first.”

“And what is that?” Prowl’s optics softened even further. “Because if it is whether I will bond with you, the answer is yes. You are not as subtle as you think you are. I knew where you had gone. And I’ve been waiting all night for you to say something.”

Jazz sobbed then, pulling Prowl into his arms. Prowl went willingly, pulling Jazz in in turn. “Yeah. Will ya?”

“Yes.” Prowl pulled back, long enough to kiss Jazz again.

Jazz pulled the pin from behind his back, fumbling slightly before managing to pin it on Prowl’s chestplates without really looking at it.

They broke apart a few minutes later, only for Jazz to start snickering.

“How do they do that in holovids?”

Prowl made a questioning sound, glancing down at his chestplates before his lips started twitching as well, reaching up to turn the bonding pin right-side-up and recenter it. “Perhaps there is some sort of guide, or very well-done editing.” He replied, setting Jazz off again, though his giggles dropped off to an occasional sound every now and again.

“Speakin’ o’ holovids, we should probably start, or m’ spark’s gonna stop in th’ tense part.”

Prowl looked a little pained, but smiled at Jazz regardless. “We certainly cannot have that.”

Pulling a blanket over the two of them, and with Jazz curled into Prowl’s side, they started the video.

The next three and a half joor were spent in almost silence, just waiting.

Then the credits rolled, and Jazz glanced at the clock, only to freeze. Prowl pulled back.

“Jazz? What’s wrong?” He sounded guarded.

“No, I’m not runnin’. Prowler… it’s after th’ sixth joor, an’ m’ timer’s stopped.”

Prowl’s doorwings hiked up. “Stopped?”

“Says three an’ a half joor.” Jazz looked at Prowl. “...I think it stopped when ya said yes.”

Prowl laughed then, gathering Jazz into a hug. “I get to keep you.” He almost sounded like he didn’t believe it. “Forever?”

“Forever.” Jazz laughed, pressing his forehelm to Prowl’s chevron as a thought occurred to him. “Ya know what I just realized?”

“What is that?”

“In a way, Primus did keep his promise.”   


Prowl furrowed his brow, and Jazz lowered his voice to a whisper.

“I’m _ your  _ Winter Spark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that… is that. <3 thank you all for commenting on this work (and others). I hope to continue writing TF fanfic in the coming years, even though I am moving into a seriously difficult school program (library science, woo!) and actually, properly starting to get out on my own. I am on the Pacific Coast, so I hit 2020 a little later than a lot of you (though I’m getting this in just under the wire, with a little more than a half-hour till midnight, hehe!), but I hope that this new year and new decade treats you all well. Be kind and follow a healthy mixture of your brain and your heart, and I think it’ll turn out ok in the end. <3
> 
> Wishing you a joyful 2020s,
> 
> \-- Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Person A dies a month before Christmas. They are given the chance to become a Christmas Angel if they can convince a stranger, Person B (who hates Christmas) to believe in the Christmas spirit. So Person A is given time on Earth to interact with Person B but Person A never counted on falling in love with them. Decide for yourself how the prompt ends.


End file.
